by Dani Wade
She kept her gaze resolutely fixed on the numbers marking their downward journey. “I’m simply worried about my job,” she said. “Vivian would not appreciate having Eternity Designs associated with...that...”
“Ah, so it’s the lingerie itself.”
“What?” she asked with a gasp, only to look at him and catch his satisfied grin. “I did not say that.”
The grin widened. “You didn’t have to.”
He didn’t speak again, but instead let the silence build until she rushed to fill it. “I think it’s just, you know.” Her hand gestured toward her body in an awkward jerk.
“I don’t know. What?” He drew the word out.
“It just seems dirty.”
“Seen a lot of it, have you?”
Ziara gave a simple shrug of her shoulders, but the red that rushed up her chest and into her cheeks told a whole different story. And had him licking his lips.
“Obviously not,” he said as the elevator doors slid open on the ground floor. “It’s time for your education.”
* * *
Ziara struggled not to choke on her hot embarrassment as she stood beside Sloan. Not even her Indian heritage could hide this blush.
Around my mom’s house, I saw it all the time. But she wasn’t about to detail her mother’s favorite business wear. That woman had never made a secret of what she did for a living—at home or away from it.
Ziara followed Sloan at a trot as he strode through the bustling indoor avenues that traversed the ground floor of their hotel. At first she suspected they were heading for the casino floor with its scantily clad waitresses or even another show. Instead, they silently traveled quite a distance to an indoor promenade fashioned as a replica of a high-end Parisian shopping district lined with quaint, expensive little shops.
Now they stood facing one and she was deathly afraid of what he would demand next.
A lingerie store.
If he expected her to tour a place like that with him at her side, the heat might rise to explosive temperatures. Tremors radiated from her thighs to her calves. It could have been the fast pace of the walk, but she suspected it was dread of what loomed on her horizon.
Sloan made no immediate demands. Instead, he planted his feet, crossed his arms over his chest and studied the delicate ironwork framing the front windows. “What do you see, Ziara?”
The stuff of my nightmares. She settled for, “A store.”
The sound grumbling low in his throat could have been disapproval...or a threat. “Look closer. Describe it to me.”
Taking a deep breath, she brought her focus to the windows.
The wince was involuntary, a force of habit as she glimpsed the barely there bra-and-panty sets, the sheer teddies, the lace-only gowns. So she turned her attention to the framework—aged wrought iron in fancy curlicues decorating the windows as if they were paintings—
“Out loud,” Sloan said, breaking into her thoughts. His voice remained soft, but there was no mistaking the steel undertone. “Describe it to me, Ziara.”
Swallowing anger at his high-handedness, she said, “The windows remind me of pictures, feminine and delicate. The pink-and-brown decor is also feminine, like candy and chocolate, but classy, like a sophisticated chocolatier.”
“Very good. Go on.”
She let her eyes slip to the lingerie, then quickly pulled back. “I don’t know. It’s underwear.” Or outerwear, depending on the woman.
Silence engulfed them in the midst of the eddying crowd. As the seconds ticked by, Ziara’s internal tension wound tighter and tighter. Whatever this test was, she was obviously failing.
“Ziara, I want you to go inside.”
Yikes.
“Go inside and see for yourself. And I mean really look. Lingerie does not have to be slutty.”
She scoffed. “Tell that to—” Her teeth clamped shut.
“To who?” he asked, his voice barely loud enough to be heard above the noise from the crowds.
The shake of her head was sharp, a reflection of the anger building inside of her. She had no idea where it came from or why it filled her so quickly. But it had to stop. She had to stop. The cracks would get too wide and then she’d never be able to repair them.
“I can’t do this, Sloan.” Turning on her heel, she was stopped by two strong hands with the softest of holds on her upper arms.
“Wait, Ziara,” he said, his voice once more soft, speaking into her ear just as he had in the privacy of their suite. Here, it was just as intimate. “You can do this. I know you can. You simply have to trust me.”
“You don’t know,” she whispered, not even sure he could hear her.
“Whatever it is, I want you to lock it away.”
She thought she had, but not well enough.
“Lock it away and go in with fresh eyes. Use those gorgeously sensitive fingers to explore, to discover. Trust me.”
If only I could... But she couldn’t say that out loud, so she simply nodded her head. His hands slid down her arms, then defected to her waist, leaving tingles of awareness in their wake. Then he turned her to once again face the storefront. “Go in.”
She was halfway to the door when the fear took hold of her. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes met his. Without a word, he urged her forward. Without a word, she followed his command.
The fabrics were beautiful, tempting her to touch, to stroke, to explore the texture and feel. But each time she reached out, she could sense Sloan tracking her progress from display to display. His gaze blanketed her in warmth, strength. She could almost feel him surrounding her, pushing her, enticing her.
A nightgown, pale gray and silky smooth, slid over her fingertips. She could imagine it against her skin, caressing her hips, the sensitive tips of her breasts. Sloan’s gaze had her wondering if he imagined her in the silvery fabric, too.
Somehow the nightie and a matching robe found their way into her hands. A spot of the same silvery gray color caught her eye from a nearby table. Panties had always been utilitarian for her. Waistband and shape were chosen for comfort.
But with the first stroke she imagined wearing them for Sloan’s hot gaze. She couldn’t begin to see herself in a thong, but the dramatic curve of the high-cut briefs would line the edges of her backside with sheer lace. The phantom feel of his fingers tracing the edges brought a shiver along her spine, daring her to look over her shoulder through the outer windows.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, but she scooped several colors into her hands and moved to the register before she could think any more about it. All the while, Sloan’s presence called to her from just outside the door. His tracking gaze should have induced embarrassment. Instead, every glimpse of him through those wide windows brought the warm reminder of comfort, encouragement and, yes, trust. Along with a desire to be a woman she was not.
Without him she’d have never even spared this store a glance.
Her rush out the door slowed as she noticed a corner set off from the rest of the store. A quick glance made her think, Wedding night, prompting her to pause, to wonder.
A younger woman held up a thigh-length confection of cream satin, lace and pearls. Her companion, who was old enough to be her mother and probably was, smiled, whispering something that encouraged a nod from the daughter. They walked toward the dressing rooms, leaving Ziara watching them with loneliness creeping into her heart.
And confusion.
At first she’d been convinced Sloan was out of his mind. But maybe, just maybe, he was on the right track.
Getting married was a precious vow. She knew that even though she’d never witnessed or wanted that happily ever after herself. What if Sloan could extend the traditions of Eternity Designs to the private celebrations of marriage and not just the public ones?
For a
n instant the desire to experience a love deep enough for that kind of commitment overwhelmed her, settling at the pit of her stomach in a tide of need. She’d been alone so long, depending only on herself, the only person she could trust. What would it be like to give in to those feelings of overwhelming attraction, to trust someone to understand your needs rather than judge you for them?
She shook her head. With unerring accuracy, she turned to the windows and met Sloan’s bright blue gaze once more. Deliberately lowering her lashes, she forced her thoughts to the lasting image of the mother’s smile. She would never experience the feminine bond of shopping for her wedding night. Even though her mother wasn’t dead, shopping for lingerie with a prostitute was a whole different experience from what she’d just witnessed. She knew. She’d lived it.
Nine
Following Sloan back into the cool air-conditioning of the hotel suite, Ziara noticed the sweat coating her neck and scalp as she took her purchases to her room. A pounding headache—whether from the building tension or lingering emotions—throbbed in her temples and down along her jaw. A few minutes alone, that’s all she needed. Time away from Sloan’s probing gaze and questioning looks.
He’d watched her closely as she returned to him on the promenade, his eyes flicking between her face and the bag in her hands. That’s when the arousal had hit her, this time piercing and sharp. Almost painful. It would be a long time before she forgot that particular sensation.
In the bathroom she pulled the pins from her hair, allowing the heavy weight to fall below her shoulders. She ran a quick brush through the mass. Sometimes just letting it down was enough to ease her tension headaches.
Walking into her bedroom, she moved to close her door so she could rest for a while, but the phone rang. Not hearing any sound in the suite outside, she crossed to the extension beside her bed, stretching her neck from side to side as she went. Taking a deep breath, she answered.
“Hello?”
“Ziara?” Vivian’s voice rang in her ear, stealing her breath for a moment. A wealth of suspicion and condemnation resided in that one word.
“Yes, Vivian?”
“Would you like to explain to me what you are doing in Sloan’s hotel room?”
For a moment, Ziara’s head swirled. Her own concerns mixed with remembered insults and insinuations from the past. She forced herself to breathe, remembering Vivian knew nothing about her past. And never would if she had anything to say about it.
“Actually,” Ziara said, grateful her voice came out calm and even, “I’m in my own room. Sloan booked us into a suite so we’d have a common area for working.”
Vivian didn’t answer immediately, as if pondering Ziara’s explanation. This time her voice was a little less tight. “Good. I’d hate to see your reputation compromised by Sloan’s charm.”
Words rushed to Ziara’s lips in her own defense, but she held them back. They would sound like token protests. Besides, hadn’t she been tempted? Like Eve by the snake.
“Thank you for your concern,” she murmured.
“Ziara, why didn’t you contact me about this trip? Why didn’t you keep me informed as I instructed?”
Because my phone was resting a little too close to your stepson’s privates for me to comfortably make a phone call.
She could have made the phone call after getting to the hotel, but by that time she’d convinced herself that Monday was soon enough to let Vivian know.
Oh, wouldn’t that go over well? She decided on a half-truth. “By the time I realized we were going, it was too late to call. I mistakenly thought I could inform you of everything when I returned.”
Maybe her growing attraction for Sloan was corroding the responsible part of her brain, but she just hadn’t been able to call without his consent. Her mind had justified the need for more information, more...something.
Now she had more of the facts, and she was starting to see Sloan’s point of view. Scary, but holding back seemed to be the right plan. For now. Besides, Vivian would faint dead away if she knew who Sloan was here to see.
“I’m truly sorry, Vivian.” She used her most placating tone, the one reserved for unhappy clients. “I had to rush to be ready for an early flight Saturday morning.”
There wasn’t any need to tell her Sloan had come to her house. Vivian would find that move totally unprofessional.
“I see. That does sound like a stunt he would pull. We all know he wants me kept in the dark as long as possible.”
Thankfully, that statement was totally true.
“Well, on a personal level, let me warn you, if I may.” Vivian’s tone didn’t sound like a gentle warning. More like a harsh command. “Be careful. You don’t want to end up like all the rest of Sloan’s assistants, now do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“He has a history of going through them like Kleenex. Oh, he says the feelings, the misconceptions are all their faults. But I know that they are drawn in by his charm, and when he’s used them, he discards them with little thought.”
Aren’t you glad that attitude didn’t run in the family? Ziara knew the thought was petty, but Vivian’s comments disturbed her on many levels. She didn’t want to believe, but then again, what if Vivian spoke the truth? Didn’t Sloan flirt and tease her? Hadn’t he just taken her to a lingerie store?
Ziara’s goal for her entire adult life had been an honorable career. She wanted an employer who respected her for who she was, what she was capable of, not a series of dirty, no-meaning encounters that would put her back in the ugliness of her childhood. Especially if she did it with her boss.
“I promise to keep that in mind.”
“Good. I’m only trying to look out for you,” Vivian said in an overly sweet tone. “As your mentor, and someone who knows Sloan very well, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I understand, Vivian.”
Even as she spoke, Ziara could feel guilt creeping in. Vivian had done so much for her. Her loyalties toward the woman who had nurtured her career and Eternity Designs were being ripped apart, piece by piece, by her growing attraction to Sloan, reinforcing the doubt Vivian planted in her mind.
“Now,” Vivian’s voice intruded, “I assume you’ve gone to Las Vegas to court a designer, though why he’d be there I have no clue. And why we need one is lost on me.”
Yet another topic fraught with minefields. “Yes, Sloan is looking into a designer here, but I don’t think anything definitive has been decided.”
“Hmm, does he look any good? What do you think of his work?”
Well, if you are into tassels and sequins... “Actually I haven’t had the chance to see any of his work yet,” she said, hiding behind another little lie. Because if Vivian knew Sloan wanted a costume designer, she’d be on the first plane headed anywhere near Las Vegas. Ziara wasn’t ready for that—yet. “I’ve only briefly met him. I think Sloan is hoping for a more formal meeting tonight.”
She could hear the tap, tap, tap of Vivian’s gold pen against her desk. That habit always indicated she was thinking hard.
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t do any good to tell him I called. Is there anything else you think I need to know?”
Ziara’s stomach tightened. Her legs went shaky. This was a big step, putting her own career on the line. But some small niggle in the pit of her stomach said Sloan might be on to something with this lingerie idea. He certainly wasn’t going to get a lot of cooperation from Robert. She had to know for sure before she could decide where her company loyalty lay.
“No. Right now there’s nothing more to tell.”
Another tension-filled pause. Did Vivian suspect she knew more than she was letting on? “Very well. Keep me informed.”
Ziara stifled a sigh and said simply, “Yes, ma’am.”
After disconnecting, Ziar
a sank to the bed, her wobbly knees no longer able to support her traitorous stand.
Had she just made an irrevocable decision based on her physical response to the wrong man, a man who could never be more than her boss, instead of practical career considerations? She hoped not, because if Vivian learned she’d hid something so important from her, her career with Eternity Designs would be over.
Was making the fall line a success more important than her own need for security? The answers weren’t so clear-cut anymore—no matter who ended up controlling the company. Hopefully, Vivian would never know at what point Ziara discovered the truth.
Like any dangerous pilgrimage, moving forward was the only option. She had to see where Sloan was heading with what she now knew were two new lines. Rising to her feet, she straightened her clothes, then turned toward the door, all thoughts of a nap now abolished from her mind.
Sloan stood in the doorway.
Ziara froze, absorbing his powerful presence, though he leaned casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. His face had softened into a slight smile, but his eyes tracked her every move.
The contrast threw her off once more. On the outside he appeared approachable, carefree and happy, but those intense blue eyes alerted her to the hunter within. Pushing away from the frame, he stalked toward her, the tired lines on his face becoming faintly visible. This quest was wearing on him, as well. Her fingers itched to trace the weariness with her fingertips, soothing it away like she would a wrinkle out of fabric, but she forced her hands to remain still.
Stopping so close that a deep breath would bring his chest into contact with hers, he slid his hands into her hair and covered her lips with his own.
Ziara’s widened eyes closed as the explosion of sensation from her lips connected with the feel of his hands in the tumble of her hair. He kneaded her scalp as if to massage away the tension hiding there, and she melted into his embrace. Reason and logic disappeared. He could do whatever he wanted. Just don’t stop touching me.