One-Click Buy: September Harlequin Presents

by Penny Jordan

  ‘I don’t manage this hotel,’ he said. ‘I own it, as well as two others in the South West.’

  ‘Bully for you,’ she shot back, but the statement lacked impact when he spotted the flicker of panic cross her face.

  ‘And anything that happens in my place is my business.’ His gaze remained steady on hers. ‘I make a point of it.’ He kept his voice firm. He hadn’t made a fortune at poker in his youth by showing his cards too early. He didn’t want to let her off the hook just yet. She had caused a disturbance and he was intrigued enough to want to know why.

  ‘Maybe you could make a point of getting my clothes back for me, then,’ she snapped.

  Zack’s lips twitched as she glared at him. With her blonde 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 sexy as hell. Kind of like a pixie with an anger-management problem.

  His lips curved before he could stop them.

  Her round baby-blues narrowed dangerously. ‘Excuse me, but do you think this is funny?’ The clear, precise English accent made his pulse spike.

  Her voice should have reminded him of weak tea and pompous aristocrats—the two things he’d hated most during the years he’d spent in London as a teenager—but it had a smoky, seductive edge that made him think of rumpled bed sheets and warm fragrant flesh instead.

  He cleared his throat, and stifled the grin. ‘Funny’s not the word I’d use,’ he said.

  She tugged hard on the lapels of the thick robe, hastily covering the hint of red lace.

  His eyes rose as he acknowledged the quick punch of lust. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get your clothes back,’ he said. ‘But first I want to know how you and Rocastle are connected and what he did to make you want to cause my hotel criminal damage.’

  Kate jerked one stiff shoulder, feeling trapped but trying desperately for nonchalance. ‘I’m his PA, or at least I was.’ She raised her chin, struggling hard to keep the quiver of nerves out of her voice. ‘He wanted to take our association to another level. I didn’t. I told him so. End of story,’ she said, putting more pomp and circumstance into her accent than a Royal Jubilee.

  Maybe if she told this nosy American Adonis that much he’d lose interest and let her leave. The smouldering look he’d given her a moment ago—as if he could see right through the towelling—had not been good for her heart rate. And it wasn’t doing a great deal for her peace of mind, either.

  How could she possibly find the man attractive? He might look good enough to eat. But, from what she’d seen so far, he was an over-confident, insensitive jerk. Surely she’d dealt with enough of those today to give her indigestion. So he owned the hotel. So what? That hardly gave him the right to have a laugh at her expense.

  ‘I see,’ he said in the same wry monotone, as if she were sitting here in her 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 Kate’s eyes, his careless comment bringing the whole sordid experience back in vivid colour. She blinked furiously, determined not to cry.

  How could she have been so stupid?

  If only she’d figured out Andrew’s real reason for employing her sooner she might have been able to salvage a tiny bit of her pride. But she’d been so eager to impress him, to prove she was worthy of the opportunity he was offering her, she’d made a total fool of herself. That she had been idiotic enough to trust Andrew hurt more than anything else, even more than finding herself in the corridor in her bra and knickers when she’d informed Andrew exactly where he could shove his proposition.

  She swallowed past the boulder in her throat. ‘I still don’t see how this is any of your business.’ Her fingers clutched the robe, now wrapped so tightly around her she could barely breathe. ‘Are you going to press charges or not?’

  The two-second wait for his reply felt like two decades. She was sure he knew it.

  He dropped his pen on the desk and steepled his fingers. ‘I guess not,’ he said at last.

  Relief coursed through her. ‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to sound as if she meant it. At least he hadn’t made her beg. ‘I’ll be off, then.’ She stood up.

  ‘Hold it, we’re not through yet,’ he said.

  To her dismay, he stood up too and walked round the desk towards her.

  Lord, he was tall. Long and lean with a very impressive pair of shoulders filling out his pricey linen shirt. She was a perfectly respectable five feet four herself but had to tilt her head back as he approached. She curled her toes into the soft carpeting and fought the desire to drop into the chair. She wasn’t about to give him even more of a height advantage.

  ‘I don’t see what else there is to discuss,’ she said, despising the tremble in her voice.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said, slowly. ‘How about—?’ He broke off as the phone rang. ‘Stay put,’ he said, pointing at her as if she were a trained beagle. He leaned across the desk and grabbed the phone. ‘Boudreaux,’ he barked into the receiver.

  Kate bristled but did as she was told. Infuriatingly enough, it occurred to her she would need Mr Sex God’s permission to get back into Andrew’s room to get her clothes.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ He nodded, obviously engrossed by whatever was being said on the other end of the line. ‘Did he say where he was going?’ He listened some more, his gaze fixing on her 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, Kate thought resentfully.

  ‘Sure. No, don’t bother. I’ll figure it out.’ He slapped the phone back in its cradle, nodded at her chair. ‘You better sit down.’

  Irritation edged his voice but there was a touch of warmth in those remarkable eyes that hadn’t been there before. The knot of anxiety in Kate’s stomach tightened. She sat in the chair, heard the leather creak as she pressed her knees together. What now?

  Leaning on the corner of the desk, he crossed his long legs at the ankle. He was so close, Kate could smell the intimate scent of soap and man. She concentrated on the perfect crease in his trousers, trying to ignore the way the expensive fabric stretched across powerful thigh muscles.

  ‘Rocastle’s checked out,’ he said above her.

  Kate’s chin jerked up. The knowledge she’d never have to see the contemptible worm again had her breath gushing out in an audible puff. Maybe now she could start putting this whole humiliating business behind her. ‘If you could give me a key to the room, I’ll get dressed and leave, too,’ she said.

  She’d expected him to look overjoyed at the prospect of her 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. ‘He took your luggage.’

  ‘What? All of it?’

  He rocked back and nodded. ‘Everything but your ID.’

  ‘But why?’ Kate’s mouth hung open.

  He uncrossed his arms and braced his hands on the desk behind him, tilting his upper body forwards. ‘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 her throat. She gulped it down.

  How could Andrew do this? He must know he was leaving her stranded.

  ‘But he can’t do that. Those are my things.’ Indignation seared her insides, but beneath it was the bitter sting of fear. Surely this couldn’t be happening. ‘How will I get back to London?’

  Zack had expected her to get mad again. In fact he’d been looking forward to seeing her eyes spark with temper. But when he saw confusion and desperation on her face inst
ead, her situation didn’t seem all that funny any more. Maybe there was more going on here than a lover’s spat.

  Her boyfriend or boss or whatever he was sounded like a real piece of work. Maybe the girl was nuttier than a jar of peanut butter, but there was something cold and calculating about the way the guy had cleared out the suite and left his girlfriend in a strange city, in a strange hotel in nothing but her underwear.

  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. He noticed the rim of purple surrounding the deep blue of her irises. The hint of moisture in her eyes accentuated the unusual colour. She sniffed and straightened in her chair, but no tears fell. He felt an unfamiliar constriction in his chest that he recognised as admiration.

  ‘You want me to call the cops?’ he asked, figuring that was the logical next step.

  She shook her head, thrust out her pointy little chin. ‘Could I ask you a favour?’

  His chest loosened. Here it came. She was going to ask him for money. It didn’t surprise him. She was in a fix and from her accent and her flaky behaviour so far he figured she must be the rich, pampered daughter of some stuck-up Brit. He doubted she’d ever had to fend for herself in her entire life. Still, he felt oddly disappointed. ‘Fire away,’ he said.

  ‘Would you give me a job?’

  ‘A job?’ Was she serious?

  ‘Yes, I’ve done some bar-tending and waitressing and I’ve got lots of experience as a chambermaid.’

  ‘You’ve scrubbed johns? You’re kidding me?’ He could see the Queen of England doing it sooner than he could imagine her doing it.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ she said, sounding affronted.

  ‘Have you got a work visa?’ he asked, although he didn’t know why. He didn’t want her tending bar, or scrubbing johns—it just didn’t seem right somehow.

  ‘Yes, I have dual nationality. 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 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 grovelling 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 his. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You can’t tend bar in your underwear.’

  She blinked, then looked away. The slight tremor in her shoulders made his chest constrict again.

  He felt as if he’d just kicked a puppy.

  Kate twisted her hands in her lap. ‘You may have a point there,’ she said, trying to sound flippant as she forced her gaze back to his. The fighting spirit seeped out of her, though, as she endured his long, steady stare. Did he still think her situation was funny—or, worse, pathetic?

  She couldn’t get the police involved. Her pride wouldn’t allow it. She’d rather prance down The Strip stark naked than see Andrew again. But she didn’t have more than twenty pounds in her purse. When she’d arrived at work yesterday morning she hadn’t expected to be whisked off to Las Vegas on a ‘business trip’ by her boss. She didn’t have a job any more. Her one credit card was maxed out. None of her friends had the sort of money she’d need to get home. And she’d sooner amputate a limb than ask her father for help.

  She’d been surviving on her own since she was seventeen years old. Kate squared her shoulders, tried to control the panic making her hands shake. She’d got herself into this predicament. She’d just have to get herself out again.

  The knowledge she’d have to throw herself on the mercy of the man in front of her made her stomach hurt. She hated to be indebted to anyone. Especially someone like him. Someone so rich, self-assured and domineering. But her pride had taken so many hits already today, how much damage could one more do?

  Kate curled her hands into fists. ‘I know it’s a bit cheeky, but if I start work tomorrow could you give me an advance on my salary?’

  Zack could see the request had cost her. The colour had washed out of her already pale face and she sat so rigidly on the edge of her chair it was a miracle she didn’t topple off onto the floor. Even so, the urge to take that defeated look out of her eyes surprised him.

  He wasn’t the kind of guy who rescued damsels in distress. Especially not damsels in distress with enough attitude to make Joan Rivers look like Snow White.

  But try as he might, he couldn’t quite shake the desire to help her out.

  Maybe it was that combination of guts and vulnerability. Or maybe it was just her honesty. She could have used her looks, could have resorted to the usual feminine wiles, but she hadn’t. He had to give her points for that.

  ‘The suite’s paid up till the day after tomorrow,’ he lied smoothly, knowing Rocastle would have got a refund on the booking. ‘I’ll get the concierge to let you in and we’ll send up some clothes.’

  Surprise and relief flittered across her face, but then a wary look came into her eyes. Small white teeth raked over her bottom lip. ‘I’m not…’ Whatever she was going to say she stopped herself. ‘That’s very generous of you.’ She hesitated again, but only for a moment, before she stood up. ‘I’m sorry if I was rude earlier.’ She sighed, the little gush of breath making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. ‘It’s been a difficult day.’

  ‘No problem.’ He shrugged, feeling a slither 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 he decided as he gripped her fingers.

  ‘Zack Boudreaux. Good to meet you, Kate,’ he said, surprised to realise it was true. He felt a slight jolt run through her before she pulled her hand out of his grasp. ‘What size are you?’ he asked, glancing down at her figure. It was impossible to tell beneath all that terry cloth.

  ‘I’m an American size eight.’

  The tint of colour that hit her cheeks amused him. Good to know she wasn’t entirely indifferent to him.

  ‘I’ll start work first thing tomorrow,’ she continued, all businesslike.

  He smiled.

  ‘I’ll probably be up at the crack of dawn anyway because of the jet lag,’ she said, rushing the words.

  Yeah, he was definitely making her nervous. The thought pleased him. ‘The personnel manager will be in touch,’ he said, with no intention of following through.

  No way was he giving her a job. He’d get the concierge to give her a couple hundred bucks, send her up some clothes and organise a plane ticket home. It was the least he could do for the entertainment value.

  ‘Don’t forget to take the cost of the clothes out of my salary,’ she said over her shoulder as she turned to go. His gaze drifted down her back as she walked to the door. Her bare feet sank into the carpet, making her seem almost childlike. But then he noticed the stiff set of her shoulders and the seductive sway of her hips through the shapeless knee-length garment.

  She was quite something, he thought as the door clicked closed behind her. He was going to miss her. Which was dumb, considering he’d only just met her and during that time she hadn’t exactly been coming on to him.

  He sat at his desk and picked up his pen to begin jotting a ‘to-do’ list for his trip to California at the end of the week.

  Twenty minutes later Zack still sat at the desk, pen in hand, without having put a single solitary item on the list.

  ‘Hell!’ He ripped the sheet of paper off the jotter, balled it up and sent it flying into the trash. No wonder he couldn’t think—a certain blue-eyed pixie with blonde hair and an
attitude problem kept popping into his head.

  Why did Kate Denton fascinate him? She was pretty, but she was hardly his type. He liked his women sleek, sophisticated and most of all predictable. On the evidence of their brief encounter, Little Miss Proper Knickers was about as predictable as Lady Luck.

  He stood up, dumping the pen on the desk, and rubbed the back of his neck.

  Maybe that was it.

  Since he’d given up gambling ten years ago, invested all his time and money into building his hotel empire, the women he’d dated had looked beautiful, behaved impeccably and never once made him work for what he wanted. They’d certainly never talked back to him, challenged him the way Kate Denton had. How many years was it since he’d felt the thrill of the chase?

  He’d once thrived on the rush of adrenaline that came with the turn of the cards, and he’d transferred all of that drive, all of that ambition into his quest to change his life—to drag it out of the shadowy world he’d grown up in of gambling dens and back-alley casinos. At thirty-two, after ten long years of hard work, he’d been featured on the cover of Fortune magazine, was ranked as one of America’s top-ten entrepreneurs by Newsweek. He owned a beach house in the Bahamas and a Lear jet. And The Phoenix franchise had evolved from a small casino hotel in Vegas into the most vibrant, sought-after hospitality brand in the South West.

  He strolled over to the office’s window. Resting his hand on the glass, he looked down. Twenty floors below, the afternoon sunlight laid The Strip bare. Without the cloaking spell of night-time, the glamour of a million colourful neon lights, the famous street looked jaded, its seedy underbelly plain for everyone to see. This was a town that had been built on the promise of an easy buck, the promise of a quick green-backed fix to life’s woes. It was a promise that could destroy lives—it had almost destroyed his—and he’d decided over the last decade that, if he was ever going to truly escape his past, he couldn’t be a party to that promise any more. He’d already expanded The Phoenix brand into New Mexico and Arizona with huge success and now, at last, he was ready to sell his flagship hotel and get the hell out of Vegas—and the casino business—for good.