Scandal In The Boardroom

by Dani Wade

  She shivered, afraid of her sudden yearning for connection. Her body felt as if it was attached to an electric pulse. She’d never had this reaction to the few lovers she’d previously accepted, men she’d chosen very carefully for their safe auras. The two who’d made it to the sexual stage hadn’t been worth a repeat performance.

  She had an inkling being with Sloan would be the performance of her life.

  “Let’s dance,” he said in a husky whisper.

  She stiffened, trying to pull back as he led her through the crowded rooms to the patio. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sloan. I’ve never danced before.”

  He paused. “Never?”

  She shook her head.

  “Not on a date?”

  “No.”

  “Not even at a school dance?”

  She shook her head again, not about to tell him she’d gone extra lengths to stay away from the guys around her school. Her mother’s reputation wasn’t a secret in her small hometown. Ziara had been harassed on more than one occasion by boys and girls alike—boys who expected something from her, girls who judged her for the same reason.

  Sloan’s trademark sexy grin slid into place, softening his face and sparking in those intent eyes. “Then I’ll be the first.”

  They stepped onto the back patio, an oasis in the desert. Framed by potted and hanging plants, the stone mosaic floor created texture and color. Soft lighting from outdoor torches combined with the stars overhead, giving the feel of vast open space despite the others dancing and talking around them.

  As a slow song floated on the air, Sloan chuckled. “Great. This will be an easy start.”

  With trepidation, Ziara let him pull her into his arms. Her fears—of giving in, of him seeing how she reacted and completely humiliating herself—kept her stiff. But when he settled her chest against his, their bodies in complete alignment, her muscles relaxed without her permission.

  Her body openly rejoiced in Sloan’s nearness, letting the earlier encounter fade from memory. The nervous shivers radiating from deep inside were chased away by his proximity—heat, height and a touch of humor.

  She instinctively moved in time with him. He didn’t lead her into anything fancy, but he didn’t just shuffle his feet, either. Other than holding her firm and close, he didn’t make any other move to touch her. He didn’t have to. She responded fluidly to every brush, every breath. And she didn’t have to wonder if she was the only one feeling this, because the hardness of his body made it very clear he was along for the ride.

  As one song blended into the next, Sloan pulled back enough to see her face illuminated in the soft glow of the torches. “Better now?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said, hoping to brush aside any further references to the earlier upset.

  “Those smooth moves made it look like you have experience defending yourself.”

  He’d never know how much. Instead, she shrugged. “Self-defense course at the Y.”

  He nodded but continued to watch her. At least she thought he did. Looking down, his face hovered over her in shadow, leaving her guessing. It should have been a relief to not see that intense purpose in his eyes, but instead the mysterious darkness both drew and scared her.

  She knew just the way to redirect her thoughts.

  “I’m starting to see what you mean. You talk a good game about company direction and expanding on buyers’ demands, but...thank you for showing me.”

  His mouth opened as if he would speak, but then he brushed a soft kiss against her temple. “You’re welcome.”

  As the song shifted into something a little rowdier, Sloan guided her off the dance floor to a secluded corner of the patio. The dry air was noticeably cooler, bringing gooseflesh to the surface of her skin. But the incredible view of the moon riding low in the sky over distant mountains distracted her.

  “Ziara,” Sloan said, his voice low and intimate. “I realize Vivian doesn’t trust me—” The hand he raised to stop her words compelled her to pause. “I understand why she doesn’t. Considering our history, she shouldn’t. But I do actually know what I’m doing. Maybe the design part is new to me, but I’ve been buying companies and rebuilding them, sometimes after devastating setbacks, for more years than I care to count. I can do this.”

  His focus shifted out into the night. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the stone balustrade. “But more than that, my father meant a lot to me. She thinks she’s cornered the market on those emotions, but she hasn’t.”

  Ziara recognized the ache in his voice from that first encounter in his father’s office. “This really does mean a lot to you, doesn’t it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  His head dipped as if in defeat, though she couldn’t imagine him being defeated by anything—even Vivian’s determined animosity.

  “My childhood was wonderful until my mother died.”

  Ziara couldn’t imagine how different her life would have been without her mother, how much better. “How old were you?”

  “Fourteen.”

  She winced. “That’s a bad age for major upheaval.”

  “Yes,” he said with a slow nod as he looked out at the desert sky. “Her death was quick, only six weeks after she was diagnosed with a brain tumor.” His pause was heavy with memories. “I had a new stepmother within a year.”

  What had his father been thinking? “It must have been hard for him to be alone.”

  “He wasn’t alone. He had me.” His deep sigh blew away any sounds of self-pity. “My father changed after he married Vivian,” he said, the words slow but gaining speed. “Life became all about his new wife—her demands, her needs, her desires. What little was left went to his company, not to a fifteen-year-old boy in need of reassurance after losing his mother to cancer.”

  The picture of isolation he painted was nearly as bad as her own teenage years, living in her mother’s house but not really living with her mother.

  “She told my father I was lazy, unmotivated. But instead of wondering why, he simply condemned me. Any protests were considered a teenager’s way of trying to weasel out of the consequences.”

  “And things never got better, even after you became an adult?”

  “Not with Vivian poisoning his brain. At least, not that I could tell.” He turned to her, the movement bringing them almost as close as they’d been on the dance floor. “He died from a heart attack, you know. Very unexpected.”

  Ziara had known, but he seemed to need to talk so she let him.

  “When the lawyer read his will, I could hear Vivian screaming in frustration even though she never uttered a sound. The fact that he left me any part of Eternity Designs completely shocked her.”

  As if he needed some connection with Ziara, his hands reached out to rub up and down her arms, warming her from the outside in. “But that forty percent meant more to me than all the money, houses and stuff Vivian inherited. I could have sold it, resented it. But it made me think that in some small way, he had truly seen what I’d made of my life and was telling me that he believed in me.”

  An alien urge to wrap her arms around his waist and snuggle close swept through her. She just barely kept herself from acting. “Then why did you stay away so long?” If the company had meant so much to him, why had he left Vivian to it?

  Laughter rumbled in his chest, the vibration echoing in her own and setting off all kinds of sparks under her skin. “You’ve seen how well Vivian works with me. For Eternity’s own well-being, I stepped back from the running of it. She wanted free rein. I gave it to her.”

  “But you knew the time would come...”

  “I knew without strong business acumen, Vivian probably couldn’t keep the firm afloat. So I waited, and showed up when she didn’t have a choice but to let me step in.”

  His cold
calculation should disturb her, but what choice had he been given?

  “Vivian should have known I wouldn’t walk away forever,” Sloan said. “Eternity is the only part of my father that I have left.”

  Which said all she needed to hear.

  Eleven

  Retracing their steps back through the house, Sloan found Patrick in the front room surrounded by people laughing. He gestured, letting his friend know he needed a moment.

  Patrick approached with a casual, lanky stride. If he’d been into computers, he’d have been a geek, but he’d been designing clothes and dressing those around him for most of his life. He and Sloan had bonded as young men over the neglect of their home lives. Despite their many differences, Patrick was always the person to shake Sloan out of his anger, force him to look in a new direction or simply bust his chops until he could solve his problems. Sloan offered the same support, and they took every opportunity to dog each other about relationships, jobs and various life issues, just like the brothers they should have been.

  Now Sloan needed something more than camaraderie. His thoughts must have shown, because Patrick flashed a rueful grin. “Do-or-die time, huh?” he said.

  Sloan didn’t disappoint. “Yep.”

  With a gesture Patrick directed them to his office. As Ziara moved into the space, she gasped. Sloan watched with a warm feeling in his chest as an almost childlike excitement burst over her face. He certainly understood.

  The room was completely out of character with the rest of the house except for the pale walls and arches over the double windows. Otherwise, overflowing bookshelves lined every other wall, with more shelves jutting out to create aisles and hidden nooks. There were several oversize leather chairs with huge ottomans and a table-style desk supported by intertwined pieces of wood that formed the legs. It was slick, modern, but washed with an antique feel. An incredible contrast that Ziara obviously loved.

  “This is so unique,” she breathed.

  “Patrick would live in here if everyone would leave him alone,” Sloan said, earning a sucker punch in his upper arm.

  “Would not.”

  “Would, too, you little recluse.”

  Ziara looked back at them in surprise, then glanced at the door separating them from the party.

  “That’s right, Ziara. Sloan calls me a recluse, but look at the parties I put on. He’s clearly delusional. As is perfectly evident by his insistence that I join him in this crazy designing venture.”

  “I’m not giving up, Patrick. You have to give me an honest chance at talking you into this.”

  His friend waved toward the closed door, and the lavish house and glittering guests beyond it. “Why would I want to leave all this?”

  “You know you get bored easily. This is just an opportunity for a new challenge.” He might as well start off simple.

  “You think working with fifty cast members and a demanding director isn’t challenging?”

  “How about—to teach an old nemesis she doesn’t know what’s best?”

  Sloan noticed Ziara stiffen out of the corner of his eyes. Though her back was turned politely to them as she perused a nearby bookshelf, he still couldn’t dismiss the connection he had to her every emotion.

  His jaw tightened as he remembered seeing her fight off that drunk. Granted, the guy wouldn’t get too far in a crowded party, but something about the practiced way Ziara had handled him made Sloan uneasy. What had happened to her that she needed to know how to defend herself? Classes at the Y, his ass!

  He forced his attention back to Patrick. “Look, it’s time to step up to the plate, buddy. We’re leaving tomorrow. Are you following me or not?”

  “I’d have to be crazy to sign on to pull together a show in less than three months.”

  Sloan grinned. “But think of the thrill.”

  “Vivian is not going to like this,” Patrick said with a careful glance at Ziara. “The last time I did something she didn’t like, she threatened to have me arrested.”

  Ziara gasped. “What did you do?” she asked.

  Patrick had the grace to look away. “Well, we snuck into the liquor cabinet when she wasn’t home and guzzled half the bottles down.”

  Ziara frowned.

  “Give us a break,” Sloan said. “We were only nineteen at the time. And how were we to know she had guests coming over for drinks the next day?”

  Both men laughed, which felt good to Sloan. He missed those simpler times, when his struggles with Vivian only impacted himself and sometimes Patrick instead of the livelihood of close to a hundred people.

  “It made an impression, that’s for sure,” Patrick said with a shudder. “Her expression...”

  Sloan tried again. “So view this as the chance to show Vivian you’ve grown up from a spoiled little rich boy to an extremely talented designer.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” Patrick said. He rocked back on his heels, indicating to Sloan he was finally considering his offer without saying a word.

  “I’m serious,” Sloan said, stepping forward. “You don’t need flattery. You know what you’re capable of. You work on these live shows because it gives you something to do and an excuse to be here. Just give it a shot. If nothing else, just get me through this show.”

  This time Patrick leaned forward to meet him head-on. “I want final say on all designs.”

  Sloan shook his head. “Robert and Anthony would come unglued. They’ve been there forever. It wouldn’t be right, Patrick. Besides, you would only be tweaking the main line with modern elements, not actually designing the clothes completely.”

  But Patrick wasn’t swayed. “This isn’t a power trip, Sloan. It’s the only way I can have two lines finalized by fashion week.” He glanced carefully around the room. “You do want the lingerie line ready for the show, too?”

  Not looking at Ziara, Sloan inclined his head. He simply had to trust that this weekend had taught her all she needed to know. And that she’d stand by him—or at least near him—if Vivian went ballistic. “You would have complete control over that line. I want to open with both in two months.”

  Patrick stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes—I’ll do it. You are going to make it worth my while?”

  “Always,” Sloan agreed.

  “Then I’ll see you on Wednesday.” Still muttering to himself, he left them to attend to his other guests.

  * * *

  Mission accomplished, Sloan’s instincts set their sights on another prey, another conquest. As he and Ziara settled into the limo, his senses were attuned solely to her, the soft whisper of her breath, the smooth swish of her skirts as she crossed her legs, the spicy scent of her skin mixed with some illusive floral perfume.

  His mind drifted back to this morning, watching her through the windows of the lingerie store. When she’d first entered, she stood almost paralyzed, looking so lost and unsure. So unlike herself. He’d almost dragged her back out rather than strip her of her usual strength.

  But the point had been more important than protecting her. And now, he had the image of her explorations burned into his brain.

  He was downright hooked.

  Shame filled him as he remembered his casual thoughts about getting close to her in order to gain her loyalty. All it had taken was a true glimpse of her response and this game had become strictly personal.

  Sloan slumped back in the seat, staring out the window of their limo. Getting Eternity Designs back on track was kicking his ass.

  Ziara spoke into the darkness. “Well, you did it.”

  He couldn’t tell from her tone whether she approved or not. Probably not. He wasn’t worried. She was a walking example of what Patrick was capable of—the proof was in his design.

  But S
loan didn’t want to think about work. He’d rather have her in front of him so he could touch her, stroke her breasts until her nipples peaked—

  “Yep,” he finally got around to replying, his tone ironic but showing his fatigue.

  “I hope Patrick knows what he’s getting into. This time frame will mean a lot of late nights.”

  “He won’t mind me working him like a dog,” Sloan joked, chuckling when she looked askance at him. “Patrick may come from money, but he worked hard in school and at his job. He’ll come through for us.”

  She nodded, but he still sensed her hesitation. There wasn’t anything he could do about that. She’d see in time.

  Her silhouette, profiled against the night, accelerated the beating of his heart. Sloan breathed deep, forcing calm to cover his growing need. He noted the slope and angles of Ziara’s cheekbones. A model’s face. Why did she work so hard to hide her beauty? He was more determined than ever to find out.

  The conviction that she would be his surged deep in his soul. He wanted to unravel the mystery, find what she hid beneath the surface so well. Why she hid at all.

  “This is an interesting place,” she said, her eyes focused on the approaching city lights.

  He studied the thick dark lashes concealing her thoughts from him. “I’m glad you like it. Patrick takes a lot of pride in his work and play.”

  “It shows. But I didn’t mean just tonight. More like Las Vegas in general.” She absently rubbed the material of her dress between two fingers. “A combination of decadence, debauchery and the everyday. Kind of like life.”

  He scooted closer, gaining ground until he could touch her hair with the hand resting across the back of the seat. “How so?”

  She dropped her head back so that it landed in his palm, but she didn’t seem to notice. The silky weight of her hair made him want to run his hands through it, massage her scalp until she moaned, use handfuls of it to guide her mouth to all the places where he wanted to feel that wet warmth.

  “Well,” she went on, “maybe not everyone’s life, but at least mine. My old life.”