His smile was charming and somehow cheeky at the same time. She hadn’t even noticed him when she’d been at the table earlier, but then she’d been wasting her attention on Zack. She took his hand, feeling her anxiety ebb as his grin widened.
‘Yes, that’s right, Kate Denton,’ she said.
‘Lovely to meet you, Kate,’ he replied chummily. ‘I’m Monty Robertson.’ He let go of her hand, settled back into his seat. ‘Do I detect a touch of the old country in your accent?’
She nodded.
‘Londoner, right?’ he asked, the warmth in his soft ebony eyes putting her at her ease.
‘Chelsea, actually,’ she replied, feeling ludicrously grateful to be talking to one of her fellow countrymen.
‘Very la-de-dah. I’m honoured,’ he said, then his face fell comically. ‘You’re not a bloody Chelsea supporter, are you?’
Kate laughed. ‘Of course I am—best team in London. You’re not one of those saddos who—’ The thump of a bottle hitting the table made her head whip round.
Zack was staring at them. ‘I need another beer,’ he said, his voice deadly calm.
Tension knotted at the base of Kate’s neck. A snide retort came to the tip of her tongue, but the sudden wave of exhaustion caught her unawares. She stepped back, trying to counterbalance the wobble in her legs and stumbled.
‘Hey, love, are you okay?’ She could barely hear Monty’s urgent question over the buzz saw in her head.
The tray clattered onto the floor. She tried to grab the table, scared of falling, but then Zack was towering over her. His fingers grasped her upper arms, holding her upright.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ he asked.
She frowned, confused by the temper in his voice. What had she done now?
The familiar scent of him assailed her, she tried to pull away, but he held firm. He turned her body and the neon light from the bar shone on her face, making her squint.
He cursed. ‘You look like hell.’ His voice came from miles away. ‘When’s the last time you slept?’
She tried to lift her hands to shake him off, but someone had tethered ten ton weights to her wrists. ‘I’m fine,’ she said feebly, but she couldn’t seem to stop shaking.
‘The hell you are,’ he said, still sounding angry with her.
She wanted to argue with him. Wanted to tell him to get lost, but all that came out of her mouth was a pathetic whimper.
The world tilted and suddenly she was floating for real, her cheek rubbing the soft cotton of his T-shirt, her limbs weightless.
‘Mont, tell the bar staff she’s taking the rest of the night off. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She heard the words but couldn’t quite process them. All she could see was the strong column of his neck, the shadow of stubble under his chin. Embarrassment washed over her as she felt his arms tense under her knees and across her back. For goodness’ sake, he was carrying her. The harsh light of the casino hit her as he walked out of the bar. She wriggled, tried to lift her head away from the rock solid shelf of his shoulder blade.
‘P-put me down.’Where had that stammer come from? And why was everything whirling around?
‘Forget it,’ he said, sounding even surlier. ‘If you can’t look after yourself, someone else is going to have to do it.’
Her mind tried to grasp hold of the indignation, the humiliation she should be feeling. But she couldn’t shake the thought that she was in a chilling fog and the only warm, solid thing there was him. She couldn’t push him away yet, or she’d be sucked into nothingness. Shivers of exhaustion raked her body.
His arms tightened around her and she heard the reassuring thud of his heartbeat. ‘Relax, Kate,’ he said, his voice gentle now, coaxing. ‘You’re okay, I’ve got you.’
‘Don’t drop me,’ she pleaded, too tired to care if she sounded pathetic.
‘I won’t,’ he said.
She softened into his strength, shut her eyes and let the fog envelop her like a warm, comforting blanket.
Zack felt Kate grow heavy in his arms. The machine-gun shots of his heartbeat finally began to slow as the deep, steady rhythm of her breathing brushed his neck. He tucked her head under his chin, adjusted her weight as he pushed the elevator call button.
He’d just lost ten years off his life.
Shock had propelled him out of the booth when she’d staggered in the bar. But as soon as he’d felt the tremors raking her body, seen the bruised smudges under her eyes, a cruel rush of guilt had replaced it. She looked shattered.
They’d got all of two hours’ sleep last night and while he’d been lying in bed most of the morning, feeling put upon, she’d been working in his hotel trying to make up the money she owed. Maybe she was nuts, maybe she drove him nuts, but the woman had guts.
The elevator button pinged and she stirred. ‘Shh,’ he hummed as if comforting a child. She relaxed against him. She wasn’t exactly light, but still she felt fragile. He tightened his hold, stepped into the elevator and nudged the button to the penthouse.
He ought to take her to her own suite, but he couldn’t do it. He wanted her with him, and not just for the obvious reason. He wanted to keep an eye on her. The urge to protect her surprised him, but he didn’t question it. He’d been right on the money earlier. If she couldn’t look after herself, someone else would have to do it. And at the moment, whether she liked it or not, it looked as if that someone was him.
KATE STOOD IN THE DOORWAY of the palatial open-plan kitchen, cinched the tie on the silk kimono she’d found on the end of the bed and studied Zack’s back. He seemed surprisingly at home standing over the gleaming steel hob, spatula in hand. The buttery perfume of cooking eggs filled the air. The smell wasn’t the only thing making her mouth water. He looked tall and gorgeous as always in a pair of worn jeans and a faded sweatshirt with the sleeves torn off at the elbows.
What was it about watching macho guys cook that made a woman’s head spin? The sight wasn’t helping Kate’s nerves one bit.
‘Hi.’ Her voice came out on a silly little squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Um, good morning.’
He stopped stirring, turned slowly and gave her an easy smile. ‘Morning.’ He nodded towards the breakfast bar and pointed at one of the stools with the spatula. ‘Take a seat. Breakfast’s done.’
She didn’t move. ‘What am I doing in your penthouse?’ she said blankly, trying hard not to be charmed.
Why was he cooking her breakfast? And what exactly had happened last night? All she remembered was passing out. She’d woken up from a deep, dreamless sleep ten minutes ago to discover herself in his bed with only a few scraps of underwear on, the mid-morning sunshine peeking through the curtains on the huge picture window.
It didn’t look good.
‘We’ll talk after we eat,’ he said, dishing the eggs onto plates already loaded with bacon and toasted muffins. ‘You want to grab the coffee?’
She didn’t want coffee, or breakfast for that matter. Her stomach was tied in greasy knots of apprehension. The only thing she did remember was making a complete fool of herself last night—swooning like the heroine in a bad B-movie. But she had absolutely no clue as to what had happened afterwards.
Had they made