by Dani Wade
“Sloan,” she said when the tension ratcheted up to an unbearable high, “what are you doing here?”
He faced her, his calm expression mocking the tremble that had slipped into her voice.
“I’ll tell you,” he said, “if you give me a plate of whatever smells so good. Suddenly I’m very hungry.”
No, her mind screamed. She didn’t want his presence lingering in her home, but short of pushing him back out the door, she had no idea how to refuse.
Sucking in a deep breath, she led the way back to the kitchen, ultraconscious as she passed him of the air grazing her bare arms and the gentle slap of her feet on the uncarpeted floors.
Crossing to the cabinet, she decided she might as well comply and find out what was going on. With efficient movements, she fixed him a plate and drink before settling him at the opposite end of the table from her. She ignored the smirk on his face as she returned to her seat.
He lifted his fork, then sniffed appreciatively before meeting her eyes.
“I know the perfect designer.”
“I wasn’t aware we needed one. We already have two.” His knowing look had her admitting, “Okay, we have at least one willing to help.”
“But I’ve figured out the one person who can bring my vision to life.”
His epiphany obviously accounted for the change in his mood, but not his presence—his most unwanted presence—here. “I’m glad. Couldn’t this have waited until Monday?”
He shook his head, then hefted a heaping forkful of rice and spicy meat to his mouth. It had to be a sin to watch those sculpted lips close around anything, even something as innocent as a fork.
She didn’t warn him about the heat. He’d probably just blow it off with some macho line. Besides, he was part of what had led to all that spice in the first place.
Suddenly his eyes widened and he coughed, just managing to keep the food in his mouth long enough to swallow. She leaned back with a feeling of satisfaction as his hand shot out for his glass. That would teach him not to push his way in where he wasn’t wanted.
“Wow,” he said after a long drink of iced tea, “that packs a wallop.”
Watching him dig back in without a hint of hesitation, she thought, Yes, it does. “I’m glad you like it,” she murmured, instead.
He cleared most of his plate, all the while studying her with intent looks that burned more than the food burned her mouth. Goose bumps spread along her skin despite the heat of the food.
She pushed her long hair back behind her shoulders, licking her dry, spicy lips. “Does Vivian approve of the new designer?”
“On the contrary, she’d have a very genteel hissy fit if she knew who he was.”
She hesitated. Her gaze locked on her nearly empty plate before braving another glance at him. “So you haven’t discussed this with her?”
He shook his head, waves of dark blond hair caressing the masculine angles of his face. “I don’t plan to clue her in anytime soon.” He leaned forward. “Do you?”
She leaned forward, too. “Let’s get one thing straight. Whatever actions I take are for the good of the company. Convince me of the merits of your plan, and you won’t have to worry about where my loyalties lie.”
He stood, prowling around the sunny kitchen. His cool good looks blended with the greens and golds, the blue accents a reflection of his eyes, the pine cabinets just a touch lighter than his hair. He looked as if he belonged in this room.
He was testing her, but instead of resentment, an excited rush sizzled inside.
“This place isn’t anything like I’d imagined,” he said out of the blue.
As he took in the kitchen and her in one sweep, she wished for the ability to snap her fingers and be wearing a business suit instead of her relax-and-cook gear.
In an attempt to repress more personal discussions, she said, “I can’t think why you’d wonder about it at all.”
He stalked across the room and reached out to touch a strand of her loose hair that had fallen forward over her shoulder. “Who knew you had so much to hide.”
Her quick intake of breath was her only outward response, but inside she mentally retreated. She couldn’t afford to let him in on her secrets if she wanted to remain a respectable part of his business. Knowing would change everything. It always did. The few she’d told her deepest feelings to had turned their backs on her in an instant, and then she’d learned the golden rule of silence.
Standing, she stalked back down the hall and pulled the door open, not so discreetly inviting him to leave.
He followed, the soft-soled boots he wore silent on the wood floor, his face unreadable. Pulling a card from his wallet, he scribbled on the back. “Here’s my cell phone number in case you need to contact me.”
She stared blankly at the card in his hand. “Aren’t you coming into the office on Monday?”
“No,” he said. “And neither are you.”
“Why not?”
That sexy grin was back. “Pack your bags. We’re going to Vegas.”
Six
Sloan arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare. He eased through security, then settled in to wait. Ziara seemed the type to arrive early, but after last night he realized he didn’t know a thing about her. Not the real Ziara. Underneath that cool, businesslike exterior lurked a woman he suspected burned as hot as her paella. That intrigued him. What intrigued him more was the why.
Why was she so different at work? This wasn’t a case of the same woman just acting on a more professional level. No, this was two totally different women.
The rich, resonant colors in the living room—burgundy, flaming oranges and yellows, deep purple accented with gold—seemed such a natural setting for her dark beauty. Why would she dress down in drab grays, browns and navies?
That hair, soft around her face, a silky waterfall draping her chest and shoulders, made him want to spread it across a pillow or, better yet, across his chest. Of course, if she was hoping to disguise her thick, satin glory, she’d failed. Pulling it up to the crown of her head as she did at work only emphasized the exotic slant of her eyes and the exquisite lines of her cheekbones.
Did she get her spicy, riveting beauty from her mother? In all the simple elegance of her home, Sloan hadn’t seen one personal photograph on display—not one of Ziara or any family, which struck him as odd.
He glanced over to see her standing in line for security. Looking at his watch, he realized she’d waited until the last moment to arrive. He smiled. Now that he knew what was inside, he wouldn’t let her revert back to “all business.”
A familiar ache built throughout his body as he watched her progress across the waiting area. The whoosh of adrenaline was similar to the rush of creativity, only a thousand times stronger. He no longer just wanted this woman—he had to have her. Which was a problem, because he was technically her boss. Temporarily. Although, if she was also his lover, then he’d know exactly where her loyalties lay. He could live with that…couldn’t he?
“Good morning, Sloan,” she said, settling into a seat across the aisle from him.
He frowned as she pulled out her mobile phone and searched for a number. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore someone to talk on the phone?”
“Not when it’s business.”
“What’s business?”
She motioned between the two of them. “This trip.” Waving the phone for a minute, she continued, “And this call.”
Oh, no she didn’t. “What kind of business call could you possibly be making on a Saturday morning?”
“I’m calling Vivian. It was too late to call her last night and I should let her know where we’ll be. You didn’t give me nearly enough time pack and get ready and call her this morning.”
And I’m not about to give you
a chance now, either. He eyed her stiff shoulders and the haughty tilt to her chin as she studied the screen. She wore her defiance like a uniform—one he wanted to remove inch by inch. “Don’t, Ziara.”
“Why not?”
“Seriously? What good is it going to do?”
“It just might preserve my job when all this is over,” she said, those chocolate eyes finally meeting his head-on. “Or did you forget that someone else has a stake in this besides you?”
Ouch. He knew it, even when he wished he didn’t. Not everyone needs a high salary and trust fund to be successful. She needed her job. If everything didn’t work out, he’d help her find a new one.
Standing, he loomed over her, hearing the call to board blast from the speakers around them. “Still, I’m in charge on this trip. Remember?”
With a quick snatch, he grabbed her phone and stored it deep in the pocket of his khakis. Still within reach…barely.
“Give that back,” she demanded, her voice shaking.
“No. But you are welcome to come get it, if you want.”
The anger that exploded over her face didn’t hide the hint of interest that surfaced. Enjoying a touch of satisfaction, he grabbed his carry-on and strolled across the waiting area to board the flight. The whole time he could feel her glare directly between his shoulder blades.
This would be a fun flight.
On the plane, she lowered into the seat next to him with exquisite care, her tense jaw signaling extreme displeasure. He really shouldn’t be enjoying this so much.
“Give back my phone.”
“No,” he said, giving a little jiggle of his pocket. “Look at it this way—at least you’ll have an excuse when she asks why you didn’t call.”
If he had to guess, he’d say he was seeing his assistant go supernova. Not a sound was made, but the air almost shook around her before she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. As they started to taxi, she took out a paperback and began to read. Clearly all avoidance tactics were in full effect now, probably for his own safety. He grinned. Biding his time was a talent he’d long ago acquired.
He allowed her to avoid him until they’d reached cruising altitude. Then his nimble fingers plucked the book from hers before she knew what was coming.
“Hey,” she protested. “Are you planning to make stealing a habit?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t you learned yet it’s rude to ignore the person you’re traveling with?”
She angled herself toward the window, leaving him with a devastating view of her elegant nose and full lips, not to mention thick lashes that added to the mystery of her eyes. “I didn’t want you to feel you had to entertain me.”
He handed back the book, murmuring, “I’ll just bet you did.”
She shot him a sharp look but tucked the book into her purse for safekeeping. Settling back in her seat, she folded her hands in her lap like the prim woman he suspected she wasn’t. If she only knew what that contradiction did to him. Actually, it was probably a good thing she didn’t. Ten thousand feet up in an airplane wasn’t the ideal place for arousal.
“Aren’t you curious about the designer we’re going to see?”
She tilted her head toward him, the sun through the window highlighting the curve of her jaw and the smooth caramel skin of her neck. He bet she’d taste just as sweet.
“Okay,” she said, drawing out the word. “I’ll bite. Who is it?”
Sloan accepted a drink from the flight attendant. Passing Ziara one of the small glasses, he deliberately brushed his fingers along hers. Her quick retreat confirmed his suspicions. She wasn’t as immune to him as she’d like. If he played his cards right on this trip, Ziara’s loyalties to him would far outweigh any hold Vivian had on her.
“Patrick was my college roommate. He was a fashion design major while I stuck it out on the business track.” He paused a moment at her considering look. “I immediately thought of him when I decided to do this project, but he turned me down.”
“Then why are we on a plane to Las Vegas?”
“I’m going to change his mind.”
* * *
Great. She wasn’t on a flight to Las Vegas to meet their new designer but to court one. A reluctant one.
She shouldn’t be surprised that Sloan wouldn’t take no for an answer. Keeping that in mind in her own dealings with him would be smart. After all, hadn’t he just shown her in graphic detail how opposed he was to a little phone call? If he thought she was going to go diving into his pants for her phone—or tell Vivian exactly where said phone had been—he was gravely mistaken.
Maybe she could dig into his plans before he realized what she was doing and shut her out completely.
“I don’t know of any big wedding dress designers based in Vegas. Who does he work for?”
Sloan’s smirk didn’t answer any questions; it only created more. “You won’t believe it until you see it.”
She sighed in frustration. “What does that mean?”
He leaned toward her, his eyes meeting hers head-on. Her stomach jumped, but she told herself it was from turbulence.
“Ziara, we’re on our way to Las Vegas. Relax and enjoy a little pleasure with your business.”
Alarm skittered through Ziara when her mental walls didn’t go up immediately. She actually wanted to give in to the attraction tempting her, but knew doing so would cost her all she’d worked so hard for, so she pulled back.
“I’m just here to work,” she said, hoping she sounded like an old, repressive aunt. “What do you think it will take to convince this friend of yours to change his mind?”
He frowned, collapsing back in his seat. She couldn’t help but admire the ease he seemed to feel in his body. “Probably something I’m not going to want to give.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows me too well.”
She angled toward him in her small seat. “So you must have been really close and stayed in touch all this time.”
He shrugged. “We have similar interests.”
What did that mean? Ziara wanted to pull her hair in frustration. Or better yet, shake Sloan until all the answers she wanted just tumbled out. His secretive, I don’t trust you attitude was getting really old, really quick. If he couldn’t trust her, that was his problem. Though she should probably be happy she wasn’t dealing with a flirty, sexy boss, instead.
“Is there anything you’d like to do in Vegas?” Sloan asked out of the blue. “A show? Shopping?” His gaze slid over her, heating her flesh even through her sensible pantsuit. “Dance with a sexy stranger?”
From anyone else, the question would have seemed presumptuous and sleazy, but from Sloan it was, well, presumptuous and tempting. What would it be like to dance secure in his arms, to give herself up to his lead without having to worry where he’d take her? Without having to worry how he’d feel about her in the morning?
She’d never chance it. This time she leaned forward, meeting him head-on so there would be no mistakes. This tactic had worked time and again in the past. Attitude was everything, though the lock on her bedroom door had come in handy too.
She might be physically tempted like never before, but it wouldn’t show. She wouldn’t allow it.
“Let’s get this straight,” she said in a calm, nonthreatening sort of way. “I have no interest outside of helping you find your designer and launch the fall line. I’m here to do my job. Period.”
Instead of backtracking or scrambling for excuses like all the men before him under her no-nonsense glare, Sloan simply watched her lips as she formed the words, his gaze tracing every curve. The urge to moisten them with a slip of her tongue grew strong.
A satisfied expression crossed his face, as if he’d stumbled upon a secret she hid deep inside. “We’ll see,” he said simply, then l
eaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, leaving her to stew in her amazement at his audacity.
We’ll see. We’ll see? He’d see nothing more than her hand making contact with his face if he tried to pull anything on her.
She knew far too much about the ways of men and the lengths they’d go to have a woman. She’d seen every trick before; nothing impressed her now. They all ended up looking at you like trash once you gave in. She’d vowed a long time ago that she’d never endure that. Respect meant everything to her. If she couldn’t have it romantically, she’d earn it through hard work and initiative in her career.
She never let herself down. That was the only thing she could count on.
Seven
Ziara kept reminding herself of that until the plane touched down late that afternoon. The Nevada heat drained her. Just walking from the airport to the taxi sparked a thirst that for once had nothing to do with Sloan.
They checked into the hotel with relative ease. The elegant suite, thankfully complete with two bedrooms with locking doors, offered an enticing view from Ziara’s balcony. Despite her resolve to focus on work, Ziara couldn’t deny the little tendrils of excitement spreading through her veins. Vegas was an animal all its own and it tempted her curiosity almost as much as Sloan and his mystery designer.
As the sunset crept over the horizon and lights sparked on, she didn’t care about the reputation of Sin City; she just wanted to indulge in a little color and stimulation.
She tried to dig some information out of Sloan during dinner in their sitting area. Knowing his plans would grant her more control and distract her from Sloan’s good looks. He’d changed into a lightweight tan suit that brought out the blond highlights in his thick hair. The blue dress shirt, with the top buttons undone, echoed the icy blue of his eyes. He projected an aura of sophisticated relaxation. She couldn’t help but envy that cool attitude.
Distraction, that’s what she needed. “What is the itinerary while we’re here?”