KATE:
“I’m not a working girl.”
Shifting on the stiff leather chair, I shot the shadowy figure across the desk my best don’t-fuck-with-me look. Jet-lagged, shaken, and as good as naked under the hotel robe, I knew it wasn’t one of my best.
He didn’t reply. The insistent tap of his pen against the desk blotter filled the silence. Bright Vegas sunlight shone through the wall of glass to his right, casting his face into shadow. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
Fabulous. After the most humiliating experience of my entire life, I get interrogated by a hotel manager with a god complex.
Apprehension slithered in my stomach like a hyperactive snake. Why had I demanded to see the hotel manager in the first place? It had seemed like a good idea when the concierge started making noises about calling the police, but now, sitting in this opulent penthouse office, I had serious doubts. This guy wasn’t behaving like any hotel manager I’d ever met.
I felt more intimidated now than before.
Obviously, hotel managers had a much higher profile in the States. This guy’s workspace made the Oval Office look tacky. A lake of luxurious blue carpeting flowed to floor-to-ceiling windows, showcasing the hotel’s enviable position towering over the Las Vegas Strip. The view wasn’t the only thing giving me vertigo. The room was so big it accommodated a separate seating area with three deluxe leather sofas, and I recognized the striking canvas on the far wall as that of a modern artist whose work now sold for millions. And this guy had not one but three assistants standing guard outside.
No wonder he had a god complex.
“A working girl? You mean a hooker?” His deep voice rumbled at last, sending an annoying shiver up my spine. “I don’t recall saying I thought you were a hooker, honey.”
I heard the amusement in his voice and my jaw tensed. With today currently stacking up to be almost as shit as the day I’d asked my dad whether he’d ever loved me and he’d accused me of being a drama queen, I was so over being this man’s morning entertainment.
“Who gave you permission to call me honey?” I snapped, grateful for the crisp note of condescension in my voice.
“I don’t need permission,” he replied dryly. “Not when the lady in question was trying to break down a door in my hotel wearing nothing but a bra and thong.”
I swallowed. Fuck. Okay, there was that.
“It’s not a thong. I have proper knickers on,” I blurted, then winced.
The memory of getting caught by the bell captain and bundled into the robe flooded back to me. Embarrassment scorched my cheeks. The fact that I had something slightly more substantial than a thong covering my arse suddenly didn’t seem all that relevant. That I’d mentioned it to him was mortifying. I had yet to get a proper look at the guy, and already, he knew far too much about my underwear.
The metronome taps of his pen interrupted my thoughts. “Proper panties or not, you were causing a disturbance.”
The heat in my cheeks became radioactive. What was this guy’s problem? I was the one who’d been manhandled. So, I’d raised my voice and kicked the door a little. Wouldn’t anyone who got stranded in a hotel corridor practically naked?
“I was trying to get back into the room.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t your room, was it?” He propped his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. The slice of sunlight illuminated his features at last.
My heart pulsed hard. Hooded green eyes studied me out of a tanned face that was quite simply dazzling. Dark brows, chiselled cheeks, and the short black hair curling around his ears only added to the firepower. Even with his face carefully devoid of expression, he might as well have had a huge neon sign over his head flashing the words “hottest hotel manager on the planet.”
From the way he was watching me, I wondered if he was waiting for me to swoon. Tightening the tie on my robe, I was absolutely determined not to start drooling.
Luckily for me, I was currently immune to the alpha male of the species.
“It was my room, or at least it was supposed to be,” I said, annoyed by the quiver in my voice. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I was far too aware of the air-conditioned breeze chilling my bare legs.
His gaze swept over me, and I felt the throb of response.
All right, maybe not completely immune. Bugger.
“You’re not registered as a guest, here.” His steely gaze shifted back to mine. “Mr. Rocastle, who is the registered guest, has made a complaint against you. So, why don’t you tell me why I shouldn’t just kick you out in your proper panties?”
There it was again—the telltale lift in his voice. I went rigid. Was he making fun of me?
Andrew Rocastle had duped me, practically assaulted me, and then humiliated me into the bargain. And now this guy thought it was funny? When had today become “shit all over Kate” day?
“It’s not my fault Mr. Rocastle didn’t put my name on the registration card when he checked us in this morning. I thought he’d booked us separate rooms,” I ground out, angry all over again at Andrew’s underhanded attempt at a seduction. “And anyway, I don’t have to explain myself to you. None of this is any of your business. You’re a hotel manager, not my mother.”
ZACK:
My eyebrow winged up.
For such a little thing, this girl sure had a smart mouth. I didn’t consider myself arrogant, but women were usually a lot nicer to me. I’d certainly never encountered this level of no fucks given before.
In the normal course of events, I wouldn’t even know about this type of minor disturbance, let alone be asked to deal with it. But with The Phoenix’s manager unavailable and his deputy on a training program, the concierge had referred the matter up to my PA. I’d heard the commotion in the outer office and buzzed her in out of curiosity. Truth be told, after clearing my calendar for my trip to California, I’d found myself with nothing to do for the first time in ten years—and I was bored.
One thing was for sure: the minute this girl waltzed into my office wrapped in her bathrobe and a seriously shitty attitude, I hadn’t been bored anymore.
I knew it was perverse, but for some weird reason, I found her snarky comebacks entertaining. Imagining her in the corridor without the bathrobe was doing the rest.
I folded my arms and leveled a steady gaze at her. “I don’t manage this hotel. I own it. Along with two others in the Southwest.”
“Bully for you,” she shot back, but the statement lacked impact when I spotted the flicker of panic cross her face.
“And anything that happens in my place is my business.” I kept my gaze steady on hers. “I make a point of it.” I said firmly. I hadn’t made a fortune at poker in my youth by showing my cards too early. I didn’t want to let her off the hook just yet. She had caused a disturbance, and I was intrigued enough to want to know why.
“Maybe you could make a point of getting my clothes back for me, then,” she snapped.
My lips twitched as she glared at me. With her blond hair haloing around her head in haphazard wisps, her full lips puckered in a defiant pout and her round turquoise eyes bright with temper, she looked cute and mad and hot as hell all at once – kind of like an outraged pixie with an anger management problem.
My lips curved before I could stop them.
Her round baby-blues narrowed dangerously. “Excuse me, but do you think this is funny?” The clear, precise, and slightly snooty English accent made my pulse spike.
Her voice should have reminded me of weak tea and pompous aristocrats—the two things I’d hated most during the year I’d spent in London as a teenager—but it had a smoky, seductive edge that made me think of rumpled bed sheets and warm, fragrant skin instead.
I cleared my throat and stifled the grin. “Funny’s not the word I’d use,” I said, my gaze flicking down to her cleavage.
She tugged hard on the lapels of the thick robe, hastily covering the hint of red lace.
My attention rose back to her face as I acknowledged the quick punch of lust. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your clothes,” I said. “But first I want to know how you and Rocastle are connected and what he did to make you want to trash my hotel.”
KATE:
I jerked one stiff shoulder, feeling trapped but trying desperately for nonchalance.
“I’m his PA, or at least I was.” I raised my chin, struggling hard to keep the quiver of humiliation out of my voice. “He wanted to take our association to another level. I didn’t. I told him so. End of story,” I said, putting more pomp and circumstance into my accent than a Royal Jubilee.
Maybe if I told this nosy American Hottie that much, he’d lose interest and let me leave. The penetrating look he’d given me a moment ago—as if he could see right through my robe—had not been good for my heart rate. And it wasn’t doing a great deal for my peace of mind, either.
How could I possibly find the man attractive? He might look tastier than Chris Hemsworth. But, from what I’d seen so far, he was an overconfident, insensitive tosser. And I’d dealt with enough of those today to give me indigestion. So, he owned the hotel. So what? That hardly gave him the right to have a laugh at my expense.
“I see,” he said in the same wry monotone, as if I were sitting here in my underwear for his personal amusement. “And you told him this without your clothes on?”
“I was about to take a shower. I didn’t know he’d booked us into the same suite.” Tears of frustration stung my eyes, his careless comment bringing the whole sordid experience back in vivid color. I blinked furiously, determined not to cry.
How could I have been so stupid?
If only I’d figured out Andrew’s real reason for employing me sooner, I might have been able to salvage a tiny bit of my pride. But I’d been so eager to impress him, to prove I was worthy of the opportunity he was offering me, I’d made a total tit of myself. That I had been idiotic enough to trust Andrew hurt more than anything else, even more than getting shoved out into the corridor in my bra and knickers when I’d informed Andrew exactly where he could shove his proposition.
I swallowed past the boulder in my throat. “I still don’t see how this is any of your business.” My fingers clutched the robe, now wrapped so tightly around me I could barely breathe. “Are you going to press charges or not?”
The two-second wait for his reply felt like two decades. I was sure he knew it.
He dropped his pen on the desk and steepled his fingers. “There’s nothing to charge you with, you didn’t cause any permanent damage,” he said at last.
Relief coursed through me. “Okay. Thank you,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it. At least he hadn’t made me beg. “I’ll be off then.” I stood up.
“Hold it, we’re not through yet,” he said.
To my dismay, he stood too and walked around the desk toward me.
He was enormous. Long and lean with a very impressive pair of shoulders filling out his pricey linen shirt. I was a perfectly respectable five foot four myself but had to tilt my head back as he approached. I curled my toes into the thick-pile carpeting and fought the desire to drop into the chair. I wasn’t about to give him even more of a height advantage.
“I don’t see what else there is to discuss,” I said, despising the tremble in my voice.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said slowly. “How about…” He broke off as his mobile phone rang. “Stay put,” he said, pointing at me as if I were a trained beagle. He leaned across the desk and grabbed his iPhone. “Boudreaux,” he barked.
I bristled but did as I was told. Infuriatingly enough, it occurred to me I would need Mr. Hot Bod’s permission to get back into Andrew’s room to get my clothes.
“Uh-huh,” he nodded, obviously engrossed by whatever was being said on the other end of the line. “Did he give an address where he would be staying?” He listened some more, his gaze fixing on my face. His eyes hardened and his beautifully sculpted lips flattened into a thin line. “What about ID?” he said into the phone, sounding annoyed. He raked his hand through his hair and cursed under his breath. The short dark waves fell back into place perfectly. He must have spent a small fortune on that haircut, I thought resentfully.
“Sure. No, don’t bother. I’ll figure it out.” He clicked off the phone and shoved it into his trouser pocket, then nodded at my chair. “You better sit down.”
Irritation edged his voice, but there was a touch of sympathy – or was that pity – in those remarkable eyes that hadn’t been there before. The knot of anxiety in my stomach tightened. I sat in the chair. The leather creaked as I pressed my knees together. What now?
Perching his backside on the corner of the desk, he crossed his long legs at the ankle. He was so close, I could smell the intimate scent of soap and man. I concentrated on the perfect crease in his trousers, trying to ignore the way the expensive cloth stretched across powerful thighs.
“Rocastle checked out,” he said above me.
My chin jerked up. The knowledge that I’d never have to see Rocastle the Rat again had my breath gushing out in an audible puff. Maybe now I could start putting this monumental shit storm behind me. “If you could give me a key to the room, I’ll get dressed and leave, too, then.”
I’d expected him to look overjoyed at the prospect of my departure. He didn’t. He looked pained. “It’s not going to be that easy.” He crossed his arms over his chest, making the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt tighten across his biceps, distractingly. “He took your luggage.”
“He… What, all of it?”
He rocked back and nodded. “Everything but your ID.”
Not just a rat then, a monumental prick to boot.
The hotel owner uncrossed his arms and braced his hands on the desk behind him, tilting his upper body forward. “Rocastle said to tell you, you’re fired and he’s taking your stuff and cashing your ticket home to cover his expenses.”
“But…” Panic clawed up the back of my throat. I gulped it down.
How could Andrew do this? He must know he was leaving me stranded.
“But he can’t do that. Those are my things.” Indignation seared my insides, but beneath was the sting of fear. Surely, this couldn’t be happening. “How will I get back home, to London?”
ZACK:
I had expected her to get mad again. In fact, I’d been anticipating seeing her eyes spark with temper. But when I saw confusion and desperation on her face instead, her situation didn’t seem amusing anymore. Maybe there was more going on here than a lover’s spat.
Her boyfriend or boss or whatever he was sounded like an abusive dick. Maybe the girl was nuttier than a jar of peanut butter, but the way the guy had cleared out the suite and left her in a strange city, in a strange hotel, in nothing but her underwear was not okay.
She ducked her head and stared down at her lap. Her fingers clutched together, the knuckles whitening as she took an uneven breath. When her head came up, she didn’t look mad—she looked devastated. I noticed the rim of purple surrounding the deep blue of her irises. The hint of moisture in her eyes accentuated the unusual color. She sniffed and straightened in her chair, but no tears fell. I felt an unfamiliar constriction in my chest that I recognized as admiration.
“You want me to call the cops?” I asked, figuring that was the logical next step.
She shook her head, thrust out her pointy little chin. “Could I ask you a favor?”
My chest loosened. Here it comes. She was going to ask me for money. It didn’t surprise me. She was in a fix, and from her accent and her flaky behavior so far, I figured she must be the rich, pampered daughter of some stuck-up Brit. I doubted she’d ever had to fend for herself in her entire life. I’d give her the money, to get her out of my hair and because I figured she’d been dealt a really shitty hand by her abusive ex. But still, I felt weirdly disappointed.
“Fire away,” I said.
“Would you give me a job?”
“A job?” Was she serious?
“Yes, I’ve done some bartending and waitressing, and I’ve got lots of experience as a chambermaid.”
“You’ve scrubbed johns? You’re kidding me.” I could see the late Queen of England doing it sooner than I could imagine her doing it.
“No, I’m not,” she said, sounding affronted.
“Have you got a work permit?” I asked, although I didn’t know why. I didn’t want her tending bar or scrubbing johns—because putting her to work here would make me feel like an asshole.
“I have a US passport. I was born in New York.”
“Right.” Dumb question. “Look, we could work something out for you if you want, but you don’t need a job. All you need to do is get the cops to have a talk with your boyfriend and—”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she interrupted.
“Whatever he is, he can’t steal your stuff.”
“I’m not going to go groveling to the police or anyone else,” she said. “They’re only clothes. As far as I’m concerned, Andrew can keep them. And he paid for the plane ticket, so he can keep that, too.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Annoyance flashed, but she kept her gaze locked on mine. “What’s that?”
“You can’t tend bar in your panties.”
She blinked, then looked away. The slight tremor in her shoulders made my chest constrict again.
Terrific, now I felt like I’d just kicked a damn puppy.
KATE:
I twisted my hands in my lap. “You may have a point there,” I said, trying to sound flippant as I forced my gaze back to his. But the fight seeped out of me as I endured his long, steady stare. Did he still think my situation was funny—or worse, pathetic?
I couldn’t get the police involved. My pride wouldn’t allow it. And anyway, they probably had better things to do than hunt down my luggage. Plus I’d rather prance down The Strip stark naked than see Andrew again. But I didn’t have more than twenty quid in my purse – and no dollars at all. When I’d arrived at work yesterday morning, I hadn’t expected to be whisked off to Las Vegas on a “business trip” by my boss. Now, I didn’t have a job anymore. My one credit card was maxed out. None of my friends had the sort of money I’d need to get home. And I’d sooner amputate a limb than ask my father for help – because he was an even bigger prick than my former boss.
I’d been surviving on my own since I was seventeen years old. Squaring my shoulders, I tried to control the panic making my hands shake. I’d got myself into this predicament by trusting Andrew the rat. I’d just have to get myself out again.
The knowledge that I’d have to throw myself on the mercy of the man in front of me made my stomach hurt. I hated being indebted to anyone. Especially someone like him—someone so rich, self-assured, and domineering. But my pride had taken so many hits already today, how much damage could one more do?
Curling my fingers into fists, I sucked in a breath. “I know it’s a bit cheeky, but if I start work tomorrow, could you give me an advance on my salary?”
ZACK:
I could see the request had cost her. The color had drained from her already pale face, and she sat so rigidly on her chair it was a miracle she didn’t topple onto the floor. Even so, the urge to take that defeated look out of her eyes surprised me.
I wasn’t the kind of guy who rescued damsels in distress. Especially not damsels ballsy enough to throw shade in their underwear.
But try as I might, I couldn’t quite shake the desire to help her out.
Maybe it was that combination of guts and vulnerability. Maybe it was because I didn’t want her to think all men were dicks like her ex boss. Or maybe it was just her honesty and the show of pride. She could have used her looks, could have pushed for sympathy, but she hadn’t. I had to give her points for that.
“The suite’s paid up till the day after tomorrow,” I lied smoothly. Rocastle would have gotten a refund on the booking, but she didn’t need to know that. “I’ll get the concierge to let you in and we’ll send up some clothes.”
Surprise and relief flickered across her features, but then her expression became wary. Her teeth raked her bottom lip. “I’m not able to…” Whatever she had been about to say, she stopped herself. “That’s very generous of you.”
She hesitated for a moment before standing. “I’m sorry if I was rude earlier.” She sighed, a gush of breath escaping her lips, and making the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. “It’s been a difficult day.”
“No problem.” I shrugged, feeling a sliver of guilt for having baited her. “No harm done.”
She held out her hand. “My name’s Kate, by the way. Kate Denton.”
Kate. Sweet, simple, and kind of plain. It didn’t suit her one bit.
“Zack Boudreaux, good to meet you, Kate,” I said, surprised to realize it was true. I felt a slight jolt run through her before she tugged her hand from my grasp.
“What size are you?” I asked, glancing down at her figure. It was impossible to tell beneath all that terry cloth.
“I’m a US size ten.”
The tint of color that hit her cheeks amused me. Good to know she wasn’t entirely immune to me.
“I’ll start work first thing tomorrow,” she continued, all businesslike.
I smiled.
“I’ll probably be up at the crack of dawn anyway because of the jet lag,” she added, rushing the words.
I was definitely making her nervous. Weirdly, I got a kick out of that too.
“The personnel manager will be in touch,” I said, with no intention of following through.
No way was I giving her a job. I’d get the concierge to offer her a couple hundred bucks, send up some clothes, and organize a plane ticket home. It was the least I could do for the entertainment value.
“Don’t forget to take the cost of the clothes out of my salary,” she called over her shoulder as she turned to go.
My gaze drifted down as she walked to the door. Her bare feet sank into the carpet, making her seem almost childlike. But then I noticed the stiff set of her shoulders and the seductive sway of her hips through the shapeless knee-length garment.
She was quite something.
Damn, if I wasn’t going to miss her. Which was dumb, considering I’d only just met her, and during that time, she hadn’t exactly been hitting on me.
I sat at my desk and picked up my iPad, ready to jot down a list of priorities for my trip to California at the end of the week.
Twenty minutes later, I still sat at my desk, iPad in hand, without a single damned thing on my list.
“Fuck it!”
I dropped the iPad into the desk drawer and slammed it shut. No wonder I couldn’t think—a certain blue-eyed pixie with insane hair and an attitude problem kept popping into my head. And making heat pool in my groin.
Why did Kate Denton fascinate me? Sure, she was pretty, but she was hardly my type. I liked my women sleek, sophisticated, and most of all, predictable. And from the looks of it, Little Miss Proper Knickers was about as predictable as Lady Luck.
I stood, rubbing the back of my neck.
Maybe that was it.
Since I’d given up gambling ten years ago and poured all my time and money into building a hotel empire, the women I’d dated had been beautiful, well-behaved, and never once made me work for it. They certainly never talked back or challenged me the way Kate Denton had. How many years had it been since I’d got off on the thrill of the chase? Too damn long it seemed.
Once upon a time, I had thrived on the rush of adrenaline that came with the turn of a card. But when I’d left that world behind, I’d channeled all of that drive, all of that ambition, into dragging my life out of the shadowy gambling dens and back-alley casinos I’d grown up in. At thirty-two, after a decade of twenty-hour work days, I’d hit the cover of Fortune magazine and been ranked as one of Newsweek’s top ten entrepreneurs. I owned a beach house in the Bahamas, a Learjet, and The Phoenix franchise had evolved from a small casino hotel in Vegas into the most sought-after hospitality brand in the Southwestern United States.
I strolled to the window, resting my hand against the glass as I looked down. Twenty floors below, the afternoon sun laid The Strip bare. Without the magic of neon lights cloaking it in glamor, the famous street looked tired, its seedy underbelly impossible to ignore. This city had been built on the promise of an easy buck, a quick green-backed fix to life’s problems. That promise could destroy lives—it had almost destroyed mine. And over the last decade, I’d decided that if I ever truly wanted to escape my past, I couldn’t be a party to that promise anymore.
I was done.
I’d already expanded The Phoenix brand into New Mexico and Arizona with huge success, and now, at last, I was ready to sell my flagship hotel and get the hell out of Vegas—and the casino business—for good.
I let my arm drop to my side.
Monty, my best friend and business manager, had called from California yesterday, saying I was only weeks away from making it happen. I was closer than ever to taking that last crucial step into the light.
I should have been ecstatic.
So why the hell did I feel as jaded as the city I wanted to leave behind?
After my run-in with the feisty, fascinating Kate Denton and her smart mouth, I had a sinking suspicion that checking off my long-term business goals wasn’t going to cut it. My personal life needed a reboot, too. Over the past ten years, I’d let myself drift from one lazy, forgettable one night stand to another – without ever taking a break from my ferocious work commitments. What was that old saying about all work and no play?
I had a couple of days to chill for the first time in… well, forever.
So there was no better time to play.
I turned, my gaze landing on the empty chair across from my desk.
No doubt about it, Kate Denton would be one hell of a distraction. But she’d also be a challenge. And I’d always thrived on a challenge.
Tugging my cell out of my pocket, I pictured her face—those wild blond curls, those striking sky-blue eyes, her plump, kissable Cupid’s bow mouth—and didn’t even try to deny the sharp tug making my cock twitch.
Volatile or not, she’d be worth the effort. I’d lay odds on it.
After getting my assistant to call the concierge, a slow grin pulled at my lips. The heady mix of adrenaline and anticipation hummed through my veins, making me feel more alive than I had in years. Not since the last time I’d laid aces over kings.
We might only have a couple of days together. But I planned to get a whole lot better acquainted with Miss Kate Denton and her “proper knickers.” If she’d let me.
