by Dani Wade
The opportunity opened before him like a lit doorway. Adrenaline aftershock, sleepiness and the shakedown of her natural barriers were lowering her inhibitions. The facade was melting away.
He told himself he should hold back, but they’d shot way past a professional relationship at this point. As he caressed her scalp, he knew deep down he would get to the bottom of the contradictions in her personality that had him tied in knots. For all the wrong reasons.
The intimacy of the limo, shrouded in gray shadows, invited him to explore the secret places, the dark desires beneath her surface. It would surely be the experience of his life.
“Rough childhood?” he asked.
Her eyes closed a moment as she shuddered. “You have no idea.”
She turned toward him, those dark eyes sucking him away from the voice of reason. “My mother...” She paused, biting her lip as if afraid to say more. “My mother was so wrapped up in her own needs, her little games, that she didn’t care about what happened to me. She abandoned me.”
Though he’d heard quite a few tales of childhood woe in his time, the desolation darkening Ziara’s face ignited a protective streak in the pit of his stomach. “How old were you?”
Her fingers worried the fabric now. “Officially? Seventeen. Unofficially? So long before that I can’t remember when.”
Thoughts tumbled through his mind about what could happen to a seventeen-year-old girl who looked like Ziara without anyone to protect her.
“What about your dad?” he asked.
Her fingers jerked then went still. “I wouldn’t know. I never met him.” A few minutes passed before she said, “I think I could use a drink now.”
Reaching out, he trailed his fingers down the back of her tense hand. “I don’t think you need alcohol.”
“Yes. I do.”
“Why?” Sloan asked, taking the risk of looking straight into those tempting eyes. Half-mast lids were sleepy, sultry. Sexy. Man, if she decided to drink, who knew where they’d end up?
Her desire to let go had him shaking. It must be worse than he thought for her to resort to booze. “Why?” he repeated, hoping conversation would distract him from his thoughts and rapidly escalating erection.
“Because without it I’ll never do this.” She twisted, her lips brushing his, though she stopped short of a firm kiss.
The fire that burst through him burned away his inhibitions with one clean flare. “Ziara,” he said, pulling her gaze to his. “You don’t need liquid courage to do that.”
Something perverse inside of him exulted in her making the first move, so he remained still. A quick lick of her lips sent a shiver of anticipation through him. Her lashes lowered as she pressed closer. Her lips barely met his before he took the reins back.
Burying both his hands in the soft fall of her hair, he stormed her mouth, sliding his tongue inside. Without further invitation, he explored the moist heat within before returning to caress her lips with his own. So soft, yet meeting him halfway, she beckoned and commanded his response without a word.
A flash of lights outside the windows eased Sloan from the cocoon of intimacy they shared. Though they were behind tinted windows and privacy glass, they were still in a public place.
And he wanted to do something they could be arrested for in public. Even in Las Vegas.
Resigning himself to a snail’s pace, Sloan resumed his exploration of Ziara’s mouth. He resisted the urgency surging under his skin. Their first time together shouldn’t be in the back of a limo with a driver on the other side of the glass.
But he couldn’t stop himself from exploring the boundaries a little. Drawing his hands down the side of her neck, he pulled her mouth closer, letting one hand travel to cup her breast. The soft weight overflowing his palm made him groan, but her electric response had him swearing.
Luckily at that moment they came to a stop in front of their hotel. Sloan opened the door himself and pulled Ziara out behind him. He rushed through the lobby and into the elevator with her a few steps behind. His hands trembled as he swept the key card through the lock, then pulled her into the suite with less finesse than demand.
The dim light of the suite was barely enough to silhouette Ziara’s beautiful face. The stillness in the room as the door clicked shut only accentuated the pounding of the blood in his veins. He stalked forward, using their still-clasped hands to draw her near. He was pleased to see she didn’t cower from him, from the intensity of his desire.
“Ziara, I need you.”
This time it was she who anchored her hands in his hair. “And I need you,” she choked out. “I really do.”
Her voice shook at first but quickly firmed, though she sounded surprised. Whether at the need or the admission, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t question his good fortune. Letting her pull his head down, he met her swollen lips once more, tasting the sweet burn he now associated with Ziara herself.
Allowing his hands free rein, they roamed her body, cupping those full breasts and squeezing them gently together. Her nipples hardened into peaks he could feel through the layers of fabric.
He followed the curve of her waist to the flare of her hips, finally drawing her tight against his erection.
Ziara bit lightly against his lower lip, sending Sloan’s body and mind flying apart. Grabbing the zipper hidden along her side, he jerked it down, then the dress. Ziara gasped, but he didn’t care. He just needed to touch her skin with his.
Instinct took over. His lips only left hers long enough to pull his shirt over his head. Drawing her against him, he groaned at the sensation of flesh against flesh, hotter than he could ever remember being. His head fell back, only to drop forward again to bury in her neck.
Her sweet, spicy scent drove him to taste her skin. Working his way down, he licked and nibbled the smooth column of her neck and the curve of her collarbone. He fell to his knees so he could savor the textures of her breasts and nipples.
Only then did he become aware of her panting breath, too jagged for passion. Releasing her sweet flesh, he looked up, catching the glint of moisture on her cheeks in the lights filtering through the far windows. “Ziara?”
“Please stop.”
Twelve
Ziara stayed in her room the next morning until the last possible minute. Hiding wasn’t the noblest of behaviors, but she simply couldn’t face Sloan after calling a halt to...whatever last night had been.
How would she ever explain why she’d led him on, then left him hanging like that? How could she ever look herself in the eyes again and not remember her actions? Behavior that brought memories of her mother flooding to the surface. No matter how much her mind insisted she wasn’t using Sloan, the fact that he was her boss couldn’t be ignored. She refused to participate in anything reminiscent of her mother’s life, built on sex, money and scheming for everything she could get.
Drawing in a deep breath, she smoothed her hair back into its usual bun. More aware than ever of the facade she presented in her business suit, she grabbed the handle of her rolling suitcase and opened the door. Sloan stood silent near the outer door, his own luggage not far away, remains of breakfast littering the table near the window.
Keeping her chin lifted and her eyes focused over his shoulder, she somehow crossed the room without stumbling or being sick. By the time she neared Sloan, his hand rested on the doorknob, but he made no move to leave. She could actually feel him looking at her, and her insides shivered. Part of her cowered in humiliation; the other part flared back to life with arousal.
For long moments Sloan didn’t move, keeping them locked in a silent battle. The tension ate away at her composure.
“I just have one question,” he finally said, his voice strained and husky. “Why?”
She spit out the words she’d rehearsed during the long, dragging hours of th
e night. “You’re my boss. It just isn’t right.”
She must have managed the right level of conviction, because he opened the door and led the way outside. Watching him stride away struck her as bittersweet.
The flight home, long and silent, was punctuated by agonizingly polite phrases like “Excuse me” and “Would you like a drink?” Her body pulled in on itself, making her wish she could shrink into oblivion. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Soon, though.
Unfortunately, Ziara was left with lots of time to think over what had occurred between them, as if she hadn’t replayed it a hundred times in the dark of night. His kiss had been seductive in more than the obvious sense. It had made her blossom with beauty, power and wantonness. Therein lay the rub. She wanted to revel in the passion Sloan evoked, whether they were sparring or kissing. But she couldn’t because it might lead to becoming the one thing she’d promised herself she never would.
As for work, she couldn’t fathom how she’d ever behave normally again. Why did it have to be this particular man who affected her like this? The one man who could tear down the respectable career she’d worked so long and hard for with just a few words.
Deciding to bite the bullet as they stood at the luggage carousel, she turned and said, “Would you like me to pick up some lunch on my way to work?”
“Go home,” he said.
Ziara’s body froze with her emotions. She couldn’t see for a moment. Everything went blurry. When her vision cleared, Sloan was propping her suitcase in front of her. Was he so fed up, so desperate to be rid of her, he would fire her despite Vivian’s insistence that they work together? Not that Vivian would oppose him once she found out what Ziara had done.
“Rest today,” he said, his voice a little softer this time. His gaze inventoried her face, probably noting the swelling under her eyes and the red rims she’d been unable to cover this morning. “The real work starts tomorrow.”
He turned and walked away without looking back, leaving confusion and an achy longing behind.
* * *
Desperately needing something to distract herself, Ziara tried to catch up on things she probably wouldn’t have a chance to do in the weeks to come unless Sloan changed his mind about firing her before tomorrow. Deep cleaning the house and weeding the flower beds were always good for keeping her hands busy. Too bad her mind didn’t want to cooperate.
But even if he didn’t fire her, she knew in her heart she’d have to move on as soon as the show was over. Even if Vivian graciously extended the offer to be her executive assistant to Ziara, just knowing Sloan was right around the corner and could appear at any minute would keep her on edge.
It looked like she’d end up losing, after all. Her heart tightened, grieving as much for the loss of her beloved position within this company as it did for the necessity of keeping Sloan at arm’s length. She hadn’t just worked for Eternity Designs, she’d believed in its values, its purpose, and had hoped security could be found within its ranks.
As she went inside to clean up, she couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. They mingled with the streaming water of the shower, invisible enough that she could dismiss her shame.
What was happening to her? All these emotions, so long buried deep inside, were erupting at every twist and turn. This was exactly why she didn’t want them—because she couldn’t control them. Or maybe she grieved because she did want them yet couldn’t express them.
Guess she could add confusion to the messy pile.
Tears spent, she dried off, shaking away the last vestiges of depression and guilt. She dressed casually in khaki capris and a fuchsia T-shirt, then brushed out her hair in front of the bathroom vanity. Everyone was allowed one colossal mistake in their lifetime, right? This was hers. At least her conscience was clear. Her mistake wouldn’t hurt anyone but herself.
Padding into the kitchen, she immersed herself in cooking dinner. Something as far from paella as she could get.
She threw together a quick southwestern chicken panini, which she coupled simply with apple and orange sections. Delicious as it was, she’d only managed to choke down half when the doorbell rang. Grateful for an excuse to give up on the pretense of eating, she straightened her T-shirt on the way to the door.
Shock sizzled through her when the door swung open to reveal Vivian. Without waiting for an invitation, her mentor glided inside. Ziara remained speechless for a moment. In the six years she’d been working for Eternity Designs, she’d never seen the Creightons outside the office. Now in the space of a week, both of them had shown up unannounced at her house.
After a thorough glance around the room, Vivian turned to face Ziara. “Is he here?”
Though Ziara understood, she still asked, “Who?”
“Sloan, of course.”
Ziara easily pulled her facade into place, almost amazed at how well she could handle the accusation. But then again, she didn’t have anything left to lose. “Sloan is not here, Vivian, and I resent the implication that he would be.”
Vivian studied her for a moment, brows raised as if surprised Ziara would stand up for herself. Then her chin dipped in a slow nod of acknowledgment. Luckily Ziara found she could meet Vivian’s eyes without a problem. A glimmer of compassion streaked through her as she noted Vivian’s disarray, in contrast to her usually immaculate appearance.
“Perhaps we could sit and talk,” Ziara said. She gestured Vivian into the sitting area facing the fireplace. The overstuffed chair and chaise weren’t necessarily elegant, but they were comfortable and their deep burgundy hue complemented the fire-glazed tiles covering the hearth. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Sweet tea?”
Vivian shook her head, a trembling sigh escaping her coppery brown lips. “That’s what I so like about you, Ziara,” she said. “Always cool under pressure, knowing just the right thing to say.”
Ziara perched on the edge of the chaise opposite Vivian, wishing the same were true in her relationship with Sloan. Business. Business relationship with Sloan. They didn’t have anything outside of that...anymore.
“I know my accusation was rude. But considering Sloan’s history with assistants and this trip to Vegas...” She made a vague gesture with her hand, her diamond rings glittering in the soft evening light. “I assumed something I shouldn’t have, knowing you. You are far too smart a girl to get mixed up with a smooth talker like my stepson.”
Ziara prudently kept her mouth shut and her face impassive.
“Did Sloan procure a designer?”
Ziara now wished they’d go back to the sex issue. There were a lot less mines in that field.
Vivian grimaced. “Ziara, I’m going to find out eventually. I’d rather be informed now than surprised in front of my employees.”
Ziara was too emotionally exhausted to come up with a clever sidestep. “He’s hired Patrick Vinalay.”
Vivian stood immediately, the click of her heels rapping on the wood floor. “I should have known Patrick would be the one to take him up on the offer. But it will put a kink in my plans.”
Ziara frowned. “What do you mean?”
Vivian turned to face her, the pale cream of her skin contrasting with the bold colors of Ziara’s home. “I thought I could get around whatever he might do by influencing Robert to cause a few delays until I could find a backer to bail me out, but having someone else on the design floor will change that.”
With a jolt, Ziara realized how serious Vivian was about this. Her mentor, the woman who had taught her the meaning of professionalism, had actually considered sabotaging her own company. Delays in production could have bogged down the rest of the process, resulting in major issues at showtime. Maybe even cancellation.
Unaware of Ziara’s growing alarm, Vivian smiled and said, “I’ll just have to find another way to get what I want.”
* * *
If only he hadn’t seen those red-rimmed eyes. Knowing how much he’d upset her, when she could usually be counted on as the calm one, put those boundaries firmly back into place. Determined not to cause any embarrassment, he marched forward.
“Good morning, Ziara,” he said as he swept by her desk. “Could you get me the location contract, please?”
“Sure,” she mumbled.
He took that for as good a sign as he was gonna get. They spent the morning focused on the push for the show, smoothing out location details and ordering fabrics Sloan already knew they needed.
Ziara left for lunch at 11:30 a.m. on the dot, but Sloan stayed behind, trying to breathe after a morning of straining to act normal and, honestly, trying to hide his erection. Once he had himself under control, he figured it might be a good idea if he headed down and gave the Old Brigade a heads-up. Patrick was due to be in sometime today, but he hadn’t texted Sloan to let him know when.
Exiting on the third floor, he heard raised voices. Oops. This visit was just a little too late. He eased onto the overlook. Remaining back in the shadows, he studied the scene below. Patrick had arrived and no one was happy about it. Seeing Ziara standing to one side of the fray, he made his way down the staircase and slipped up behind her.
Unable to resist, he leaned in close to her ear. “Did I miss the start of the war?”
In his chest, he felt the shivers that moved down her spine, urging him to press closer. How quickly his resolve was shaken by the temptation of almost touching that caramel skin.
His mind focused on the heat from the exposed curve of her neck and the vanilla scent drifting from the tamed confection of her hair.