by Dani Wade
He grinned up at her before finishing the last few stitches. Then he stood. “I’m done, Jennifer. Thanks.” He turned to her as the model walked away. “You look stunning in that dress, Ziara.”
“Thank you. The designer did an incredible job.” She leaned over to brush a kiss on his cheek, only to jump when someone said, “What’s this?”
Hearing Sloan’s voice was a little surreal. Turning, she was at a loss for words as she faced those bright blue eyes.
Patrick spoke from behind her. “You sure know how to make an entrance, buddy.”
Sloan’s grin made her heart ache, but she couldn’t stop looking. The cool, calm facade she’d rebuilt over the past week cracked under his stare.
“Why...why are you here, Sloan?” she asked, clearing her throat in an attempt to get the words out.
“I’d like to know that myself.” Vivian’s voice drew their gazes as she stormed through the curtain. “I was told you had arrived, but I have no idea for what purpose.” Her eyes swept over their little group before resting back on her stepson. “I’m waiting, Sloan.”
Ziara felt herself take a step back, afraid of the coming storm. Fights between Sloan and Vivian were notoriously intense, and she really wasn’t up to enduring one at the moment.
“Then you’ll be waiting a long time, Vivian,” Sloan said. “I don’t answer to you. Nor do I need an invite to my own show.”
Vivian sputtered, “It’s not your show.”
“Oh, it is. Unless you’d like me to confiscate every dress, every item I had a hand in creating, carrying them to my car right through the front door. Your guests would love that, and we’d certainly make the society pages. And you’d still have a few left to show, I guess.” The charming grin that got Ziara every time made an appearance. “Just not the best ones.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” His charm was definitely lost on Vivian.
“Oh, I would. I assure you.” He rubbed those incredibly skilled hands together. “I’m back in.”
Nineteen
“Excuse me?” The high-pitched squeal in her voice would have mortified Vivian if she’d been more aware of it.
“You heard me,” Sloan said, enjoying Vivian’s distress. His eyes remained on her, but his senses were searching out Ziara’s reactions to his presence. Now, just like the first time, she distracted him. Everything that made him a man told him to end this argument so he could sweep her away to a back room somewhere. But it was too soon for that.
Too much unfinished business between them.
“Oh no, Sloan. You left of your own accord,” Vivian said.
“I prefer to think of it as a vacation.”
The frustration reddening her face wasn’t pretty. “That’s simply semantics. It won’t hold up in court.”
“Wanna bet? Besides, I’m pretty sure Patrick will testify that I’ve been in touch with him over the past few days about final details. In my opinion, that counts.” Thank goodness for Patrick’s pestering. “This is simply a courtesy notice. I’ll see you on the stage later.” With a wink at his friend and Ziara, he turned toward the stage exit.
“So you decided you believed the little slut after all? What did she do, beg you to take her back?”
Sloan halted in midstride. He heard Ziara’s gasp behind him, but forced himself to focus on Vivian alone. If she wanted to do this out in the open, let her hang herself with her own rope.
She kept right on talking. “I didn’t count on that idealistic streak of your father’s running through you as well, so the sexual harassment angle was definitely the way to go. I guess love didn’t mean much in the face of prosecution.”
Sloan pivoted slowly, his body tensing into standard negotiation mode. He’d thought the hardest part of regaining his father’s company would be bluffing his way back into the deal. He’d never imagined Vivian would admit to having met Vera Divan first.
Ziara stood directly in his line of vision, her eyes trained on Vivian. Her olive skin now held a pale undertone and her gaze was hazy, unfocused, as she absorbed a blow he should have protected her from.
Patrick stepped in this time. “How did you even get Vera Divan to approach Sloan?”
“People like that will do anything for money, unlike us.” Vivian kept speaking, digging the hole deeper and deeper. “She’s just the daughter of a whore, Sloan. Or are you finally ready to sink to their level? Your mother’s lower-class roots making themselves known.”
That was all he needed. Stalking across the floor, he leaned in, dwarfing her with his size and his anger. His voice, when he spoke, was cool and deadly, but Vivian didn’t seem to notice. “Actually I’m back here because my father’s idealism runs strong through my veins. I want his dream to grow and thrive, not become some kind of shrine to the marriage you wanted but could never have. You always knew you were second-best, which is why you turned my father against me.”
“You were simply a reminder of her, all free spirit and no responsibilities. The memories are what kept him from moving forward. He could have loved me just as much, given time.”
“But there just wasn’t enough time for you to mold him into what you wanted, was there?” Sloan asked, his breath speeding up as he remembered the pain of the wedge Vivian drove between them. “As for Ziara, watch how you speak about her,” he said. “She’s not the daughter of a whore. She’s a strong woman, who inspires me to be the person my father wanted me to be. She’s worked hard to get where she is. She chose respectability when she could have given up, followed in her mother’s footsteps. That’s an example of refinement you’ll never understand.”
Vivian’s eyes widened, fear creeping in at the edges.
Digging deep, Sloan remembered that last special moment with his father—his memories of following the taller man as he pushed through the crowd with sure steps. Sloan forged ahead. “I value traditions just as much as my father did, and he was right about one thing—you and I can’t work together. So I think it would be best if you retire when Abigail does. I would hate for word to leak out about your shady dealings with Ziara’s mother.”
“You couldn’t do that without telling people about Ziara’s past.”
“Who gives a damn? I certainly don’t care what people think. She’s not her mother—in any way. And anyone who dare speaks even her name wrong will have to deal with me. Personally.”
This time Sloan’s exit was straight and true. He walked out with a new connection to his father and a woman he still needed to seduce—this time into happily ever after.
* * *
Ziara glanced down at her hands, the slight vibration a little surprising. She wasn’t sure if it was from witnessing the confrontation between Sloan and Vivian, or the sheer shock from seeing him again. In her heart, she knew he was only here for the business, for his father’s memory. His surprising defense of her made her wish for something else, for something more personal, more private.
As she watched the glamorous throng being urged to their seats, she knew it wouldn’t happen. Now that the truth was out, she’d never fit into this world. Vivian would make sure of that. And Sloan would never want to fit into hers.
As everyone settled and the lights dimmed, Ziara took a deep breath. This was it. The moment of truth. The reception of these lines would make or break Eternity Designs.
Things went well from the beginning. Guests oohed and aahed in all the right places as the wedding gowns graced the spotlight. The tightness coiled deep inside Ziara loosened as the first model for the transitional lingerie line made her entrance. Her dark coloring set off the white, slim-fitting gown against the now-pale pink backdrop.
As the emcee explained the nature of the material and the gown’s function, Ziara heard whispers, and flashbulbs exploded. Just at that moment one of the runners stuck his head around the side door and motioned f
or Ziara.
As she approached, he whispered, “Miss Ziara, we need you.”
Duty called.
Ziara and Patrick arrived back in the side wing just as Sloan started his speech. Tears in need of release ached in Ziara’s throat. But she’d gotten through tonight, just as she would get through whatever lay ahead. Even if it meant starting over somewhere else.
Drinking in Sloan’s confident, cocky grin as he addressed the crowd, she wished her future would keep her with Sloan.
Patrick left her side to join the other designers as Sloan introduced them. They looked like a melting pot of styles side by side, but the combination had been wildly successful. The standing ovation was proof positive.
Standing alone in the wings, Ziara’s heart warmed with gratitude. Sloan had attained success, just as he deserved. He’d been right and she and Vivian had been wrong. In the end he’d saved the company they all loved.
Catching a change in Sloan’s voice drew her focus back to him.
“There’s one other person I must thank for making tonight the success it is. Not only did she work tirelessly behind the scenes, she played mediator, organizer and even stagehand.”
Ziara’s heart thumped so loudly Sloan’s next words were almost blocked out. “But most importantly, she served as the inspiration behind some of my new lingerie pieces. She taught me a very important lesson—the most amazing thing you can do in life is to be true to yourself. Not what people want you to be, the mold they shove you into, but to be what you want in life. That’s the greatest challenge. She encouraged me to create some of the designs you saw tonight, and it’s one of the most fulfilling things I’ve ever done. I hope my father would be proud.”
He turned, staring straight at the spot where she trembled backstage. Gooseflesh prickled her bare arms as she listened.
“Please welcome Ziara Divan, my executive assistant at Eternity Designs.”
When his hand extended toward her, she knew he meant for her to join him. Her mind was numb, yet she forced one leaden foot in front of another. As she stepped from the shadows out into the bright lights and applause, her mind came alive, racing with a dozen questions.
She ignored them, intent on reaching Sloan’s side to slip her shaking hand into his outstretched one. Leaning down, he buried his head once again in the hair near her ear. “I love you, Ziara.”
She shook her head, pulling back to stare with wonder into those glittering blue eyes. “What about—” she began in fear.
Sloan silenced her with one warm finger against her lips.
She heard the crowd erupt into applause, but she could only lose herself in Sloan’s hot gaze and hope the fears would disappear like mist under the heat of his desire.
* * *
Later that night, long after the last guest was gone and the last dress packed away, Sloan found himself enjoying a very different kind of show in the privacy of his luxurious bathroom.
“Sloan, I really can’t do this.”
“Ziara, look at me.” Sloan gently cupped her chin, guiding it up so she could watch the two of them in the full-length mirror. He knew she didn’t want to see herself, but he wasn’t going to let her hide. His gaze devoured her sensuous curves in the coppery silk. He probably shouldn’t push her tonight, after everything she’d been through at the show, but part of him needed her to see the truth.
When he’d said she had been the inspiration for his lingerie pieces, he hadn’t been lying. But this particular piece had been created for her—and him—alone. Like layered veils of transparent copper, burnt-orange, pale yellow and gold, the floor-length sheath both covered and revealed the curves of her body. Tempting him with her exotic beauty, showcasing the woman she was meant to be.
“Are you your mother?”
Her sharp intake of breath threatened to strain the zipper, but he wasn’t backing down.
“Answer me.”
“No, not even a little bit,” she said, her assurance translating to her body. Her shoulders straightened. Her tension dissolved.
“Are you a beautiful woman who deserves to wear pretty things? Who wants to see how strong and sexy she is?”
Swallowing hard, her constrained voice came out a whisper. “Yes.”
“Then wear this. For me.”
Sloan let his eyes wander down her reflection. Luscious mounds of plump flesh overflowed the cups. While the effect wasn’t quite pornographic, his body responded by tightening immediately, hard and throbbing. He’d fantasized about Ziara in various pieces of the lingerie he’d designed, but they hadn’t gotten around to her wearing any for him. The reality was more spectacular than he’d imagined.
Unable to wait any longer, he did the one thing he’d been dying to since he’d seen her backstage earlier that evening—covered her lips with his own.
She pulled back way too soon. “Please understand, I didn’t do this for any other reason—” He could almost hear her throat close, hear the fear she hid inside.
He knew of only one way to convince her of his love, to prove how much she deserved to be cherished and respected. That he wanted to be with her for an entire lifetime. Only one way to break through her barriers and convince the woman within.
He eased his hands up her back. When he buried his hands in her hair, pins clattered to the tile floor. He ran his fingers through the thick silk, searching for any remaining pins, then massaged her scalp until she relaxed, tension easing from her muscles. She melted against him. Tipping her face up to meet his, he was surprised to find silent tears trailing down her cheeks.
“Oh, baby, don’t cry,” he murmured.
“I’m not,” she insisted. Swiping a hand at her cheeks, she stared at the moisture on her fingers in disbelief. He barely caught her whisper. “I’ve never cried, not since I was fourteen years old. Until I met you.”
He guided her gaze up to meet his with a finger under her chin. “There’s no need to, because I believe you. I believe in you.”
A hopeful expression lit her darkened eyes just as her legs gave out. He clasped her to him, picking her up and striding down the passageway toward his bedroom.
He laid her on the bed, then explored her slowly, tracing every tantalizing curve through the soft fabric—her shoulders, neck, hips, calves, then back up to her stomach and breasts. Every hitch of her breath, every tremble in her limbs drew him closer, tightening the connection that bound them together—mind, body and soul.
“I can’t believe how this feels,” she whispered. “How you feel. I never want it to end.”
“Me, either,” he said before burying his face between her breasts. The round, soft weights tempted him, and were almost as distracting as her dark, tight nipples. Pulling the cups aside, he savored them as much as he did her silent declaration. One day she’d be ready to speak her true feelings. Though he had a reputation for pushing to get what he wanted, this time he’d wait as long as necessary.
Finally, widening her thighs with his knee, he settled over her.
“Now I know why having you is so different for me,” he said, lifting his gaze to watch her in the shadowed moonlight.
“Why?”
“Because I love you.” With those words, he pressed inside her, savoring the slick heat of her body, the arch of her back and the gasp from her lips.
No other words were spoken between them as they strove for release, each giving as much as taking until the world exploded around them. Long moments later, Sloan opened his eyes to find Ziara staring at him. He quirked a lazy eyebrow, savoring their still-connected bodies. “What is it?”
Her words were hushed, as if in reverence to the intimate connection between them. “I can’t believe you believe me, after all she must have said to you. How can you still love me?”
He thought for a moment, choosing his words with care. “I
should have remembered that Vivian has her own kind of ruthlessness. I’d already started to suspect, but never dreamed she’d lose her cool enough to admit her involvement with your mother.” He looked into eyes surrounded by the thickest lashes he’d ever seen. “I never dreamed I’d be stupid enough to fall for it.”
Trailing his knuckle along the curve of her cheek, he said, “My father was right.”
“About what?”
“He said loving my mother was pure magic.”
He felt her awe in the softening of her body, the tiny smile that visited her lips. As he settled once more within her arms, his hand stroked along her thigh. His mind soaked in her presence. “I love you, Ziara,” he said.
“I love you, too, Sloan.”
Joy burst under his skin. He brushed a tender kiss along her temple, pausing a moment to savor her declaration. Tonight truly was magic. He’d fought for what he believed in and won. As he whispered erotic intentions in her ear, he vowed to turn their dreams into reality.
For all eternity.
* * * * *
The CEO’s Accidental Bride
Barbara Dunlop
One
Zach Harper was the last person Kaitlin Saville expected to see standing in the hallway outside her apartment door. The tall, dark-haired, steel-eyed man was the reason she was packing her belongings, the reason she was giving up her rent-controlled apartment, the person who was forcing her to leave New York City.
Facing him, she folded her arms across her dusty blue Mets T-shirt, hoping her red eyes had faded from her earlier crying jag and that no tear streaks remained on her cheeks.
“We have a problem,” Zach stated, his voice crisp, and his expression detached. His left hand was clasped around a black leather briefcase.