by Dani Wade
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.
“I ran into Patrick at the door,” she murmured. “And made the mistake of letting him in.”
Patrick was throwing out orders as if he owned the place, which didn’t surprise Sloan in the least. Patrick knew how to captivate a room, but true resistance didn’t bring out the best in him. No one appeared to be playing nicely.
“This is my studio and it will run the way I say,” Robert bellowed.
Patrick folded his arms over his chest. “Really? When I signed on it was with the express understanding that final say would be mine.”
Robert gasped, his hand clasping his heart, in contrast to Anthony, who stood silently in the background, watching the scene before him with somber eyes. “Say it isn’t so!”
Patrick chuckled, prompting Robert to launch into a litany of French while Anthony’s face turned red to the point of glowing. Sloan feared the way he bottled things up might cause a heart attack.
Taking control, Sloan let his voice boom out across the massive room, bringing everything to a halt. “That’s enough.”
Ziara jumped as he moved away from her, stepping forward from his position on the sidelines. “Patrick is here to modernize the line.”
“But we don’t need him,” Robert insisted.
Sloan went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “He will take the basic designs you put together and adjust or add to them as needed. I have given him final say in the overall designs for the fall line to speed things up.”
As Robert sputtered, Sloan pinned him with a look. “Do you want this studio to close?”
“No,” Robert said, resignation in the very lines of his face.
“Then I suggest you find a way to make this work.”
Not as diplomatic as he could have handled it, but effective. Sloan let his gaze sweep the whole group. “You two will put together the basic designs we’ve already approved, with Patrick adding what he believes is necessary. He’ll have his hands full between that and his additional line.”
“Additional line?” They all jumped as Vivian’s voice erupted from behind them. “And what would that be?”
She walked toward the men, bypassing Ziara with barely a glance. Sloan’s blood started to pound through his veins, that instinct to clash rising to the fore. But he checked himself, his curiosity starting to stir. How much had his little assistant given away already? He’d been with her most of the morning, but he couldn’t account for every phone call, every second in the office. Or out of it.
“Still causing trouble, I see, Patrick,” she said.
“Vivian.” Patrick grinned. “As lovely and cold as ever.”
She frowned but let the comment pass as her eyes swept over the men to rest on Sloan. “What do you mean, another line? We’ll have a hard enough time coming up with one.” She turned to examine Patrick from under raised brows. “Don’t tell me he’s going to do some kind of trashy, glitzy gowns. Surely taste hasn’t gone that far downhill.”
Why was she ignoring Ziara? He didn’t want to believe that Ziara would rat him out, but Vivian was her mentor. Was Vivian testing him? Did she already know what was coming? The thought nibbled at the back of his brain. Ziara stood at the rear of the group, her brows lowered, arms crossed tightly over her stomach. Noting every curve, every shift, he still couldn’t tell if she was transmitting nerves or guilt. He remembered her tortured expression as she’d asked him to stop—please don’t let it be guilt. Deep inside, he needed her to be innocent, needed someone to be on his side.
“Actually, Vivian, it won’t involve wedding dresses at all,” Sloan said, going on the offensive.
Vivian stiffened. Enjoying himself, he let a smirk slip onto his lips. Even though Ziara’s silent stare weighed heavy on him.
“Then what is it?” Vivian asked.
“He’ll be launching our new lingerie line.”
Sloan may have delivered the news with just a bit too much relish. The room became so still that from several feet away he heard Vivian’s ragged intake of breath.
“Absolutely not!”
The furious look she threw Ziara definitively answered his questions—the woman he’d held in his arms, who clung so tightly to her professionalism that she would turn away from the inferno they created together, had stood her ground. Or rather, his ground. She’d kept his secret, despite the risk of losing the career Vivian held in the palm of her hand.
Now—if he didn’t succeed, he wouldn’t just lose the company. Ziara would lose everything she’d worked so hard to achieve.
Thirteen
Sloan and Patrick holed up in his office for most of the afternoon while Ziara practically collapsed at her desk. Work was beyond her for the first time in her life.
As if in slow motion, she relived Vivian turning until her accusing eyes met Ziara’s. She knew Vivian would forever hold her responsible for not telling her about the lingerie line the day before. Her stomach clenched as the ramifications of her actions hit her. When Vivian turned and left without a word, Ziara had said her final goodbyes to the position she’d worked so hard to attain.
Vivian would never give it to someone she couldn’t trust.
But would Sloan believe her now if Ziara came to him with the truth? She’d been trying all day to find the right time to tell him about Vivian’s threat, but each time she’d hesitated. They’d maintained a strictly professional attitude toward each other that she’d been afraid to upset. That balance was so fragile. What would happen if she brought up such a personal subject?
“Wish me luck, sweet cheeks,” Patrick said, sweeping by her toward the suite doors. “I’m off to face Mutt and Jeff.”
She frowned, her strained emotions too heavy to hide. “Their names are Robert and Anthony.”
He leaned against the doorframe. “It was just a joke.”
“I know. But Robert and Anthony are going to have a difficult time adjusting to this. They’ve devoted many years to this company. Joking might not be the way to go.”
A light grin tugged his lips. “I can take a hint. Just remember, I’m making the best of a situation they created.”
Hoping her expression told him she understood, she nodded and watched him slip out the door. Then she dropped her head into her hands as the roller coaster of emotions of the past few days—heck, the past few hours—got the better of her.
She’d lost so much—her direction, her focus—and for what? Where would she go from here? Once Sloan got through the fall show she’d have to leave. But how could she find a job that would mean as much to her as this one?
“Ziara.”
She heard Sloan’s husky voice at the same moment that his heated palm cupped the back of her neck. She sensed him kneeling beside her chair, but she couldn’t bring herself to raise her head, because she knew her face would be an open book at the moment.
“Ziara,” he tried again. “Are you okay?”
No, she wanted to cry. Instead, she wiped the emotion from her face as she would tears, then sat up straight. She nodded shortly. “Yes. I’m just tired.”
Skirting around her, he propped himself on the edge of her desk. She tried hard not to notice the sculpted muscles of his thigh, revealed by the pull of his slacks.
That husky drawl came again. “Do you need to go home?”
Like the snap of a twig, the pressure broke her prized control. She tilted her head to the side in order to face him. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
He choked on a laugh, those electric eyes widening. “Am I not supposed to be?”
“No. I mean, after...” She shook her head. “I’m not handling this very well.”
“Me, either,” he said, his voice deepening as he slid off the desk, then lifted her to stand before him. Using her arms to draw her against his chest, he bent to take her lips in a kiss that made no mistake as to his needs.
To Ziara’s shame, she couldn’t pull away, even knowing they were at the office. Her lips opened with a groan and her mind shut down. On a purely physical level, she met him pant for pant, kiss for kiss, lick for lick. Sloan’s hands tightened to the point of pain on her arms, but it was one more sensation in the flood. Her control completely evaporating, she allowed him to lead her wherever he wanted to go.
Suddenly he pulled away, staring down at her, leaving her dazed and panting. “Not one word. Just go in my office.”
Confused, Ziara thought he was speaking to her until she caught a glimpse of Patrick sweeping past. Her eyes snapped shut, her head dropping forward in shame. How could she have let this happen? Here of all places.
With a nudge of his fingers under her chin, Sloan raised her face. Opening her eyes, she noted his expression numbly at first, then with growing awe.
Instead of the crazed lust or judgment she’d expected, his eyes sparked with honest desire and a touch of tenderness. A reverence she’d never expected to receive from a man warmed the icy blue of his eyes. The look sent her own need into hyperdrive.
“I guess we’ll have to put this discussion on hold,” he said, tracing her moist lips with his thumb. His eyes narrowed in resolve. “But we will talk, Ziara, because neither of us is going to be able to ignore what’s happening here.”
Turning, he entered his office and shut the door behind him, leaving her to wilt into her chair. She should be worrying about Patrick—what he’d seen, what he assumed. She should be worrying about Vivian and her own future. Instead, she trembled inside, thinking only of Sloan’s parting words.
* * *
Sloan and Patrick remained in conference so long that Ziara took the opportunity to slip out and head home. She desperately needed some time to herself, time to sort through her feelings.
As she concentrated on assembling lasagna for dinner, hoping the tedious layering would help her focus, she acknowledged that she’d had other reasons for calling a halt to things in Las Vegas. Reasons much deeper than Sloan being her boss.
Because, deep down, the thing she feared most was what might come the morning after. She didn’t know how to do more, or whether he would want to do more...or if he would even care about the consequences. But every time he looked at her with that mixture of passion and admiration, she came a foot closer to crossing that inevitable line. She forced her mind to give it a rest as she focused on the task at hand. Sauce, noodles, sauce, ricotta cheese, mozzarella, then noodles again. Swaying slightly to the sultry jazz music playing through the house’s sound system, she savored the feel of the cool tile beneath her bare feet. Breathing deep, she pulled in the smell of tomatoes and oregano enriching the air around her, blending with the darkness creeping down outside to cool the summer heat.
She’d just grated a small block of Parmesan onto the top and put the pan in the oven when the doorbell rang. An uncharacteristic expletive slipped out as she wiped her hands. The sound of her own doorbell now filled her with dread.
She barely got the lock turned when the door burst open. Sloan stalked through, slamming it shut behind him. Holding her gaze, he slipped the lock back into place, then strode across the small foyer to where she’d backed up against the love seat.
Without a word, his hands anchored in her hair, dragging her mouth to his. She had a brief moment to wonder about his obsession with her hair before surrendering to the dark current of desire.
Her body melted into his, her head automatically tilting to the side to accommodate his mouth. When she made no protest, his hands slid from her hair over her shoulders and along her spine to cup her rear end, pulling her forward to meet his erection. With a groan, he pushed into the cradle of her hips. Her body arched, rising to meet his demands.
Before she could think, her shirt was unbuttoned. He peeled it open to reveal her breasts. Pulling back just the upper part of his body, Sloan spent moments memorizing the view. The pressure from below reassured her that he liked what he saw.
She wished she could see his hands as they cupped her through her bra, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his face. Thoughts of losing his respect fled in the wake of the awe glowing in his expression, the utter pleasure he took in touching her.
Pride intensified her response. She wanted to revel in his reactions. Pushing herself farther into his hands, she shivered as a zing shot from her nipples to that all-important point between her thighs. The pressure there was heavenly yet growing more urgent with his every touch.
Allowing her head to fall back, she lost all strength as he sucked and licked his way along her neck. He anchored her to his body with his arm around her hips.
After pausing for a moment to savor the rapid pulse at the vulnerable base of her neck, he lifted her into his arms and carried her down the hallway. As if by instinct, he strode past several rooms with barely a glance, pausing outside only one.
“I should have known,” he murmured, then strode across the room to lay her on the bed. Soft illumination from the doorway and a candle lit earlier glinted off the gold threads in the purple bedspread, the silky material caressing her bare skin when Sloan laid her down. After stripping her, he stood and tore off his own clothes, his gaze never leaving hers as he quickly slid on protection.
The sight of his body took her breath away. Long, lean muscles. Smooth, firm chest. Strong, tight thighs. Her core ached for the steely length between them. She wanted to touch him, savor every new discovery. But he was already crawling onto the bed and spreading her trembling thighs to his gaze.
The flash of vulnerability surprised her. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t humiliate her. But the fears still lingered.
“Sloan, slow down,” she gasped.
He stretched to take her mouth in a hard kiss before resting his forehead against hers. His panting breath sounded loud in the quiet. Only faint music could be heard from down the hall.
“I can’t, Ziara,” he said. “I’ve waited too long, wanted too hard. Please let me in now.”
She hesitated, knowing that if she did, there would be no turning back. Already her hands and thighs shook with the effort of holding herself together, but her need was too great. She had to meet him all the way. As she’d feared, there would be no half measures.
And hopefully no regrets.
She groaned, her thighs sliding apart. Reaching down with a boldness that surprised her, she took him in her hand and guided him to her hot, wet entrance. He pushed inside with one plunge.
His body in hers sparked a tingly firestorm that burned between her thighs and spread outward to every point of her body. To the tips of her fingers, the top of her head. She could feel him imprinting on every part of her.
As he moved, the fire built higher and hotter. She’d never yearned to let go like this. Even though warnings screamed inside her brain, for once she thrust them away, so she could revel in how he made her feel.
She was drunk—not off wine, but off the sensation of having him so deep inside her, having him devour her with his gaze, having him stroke and praise her. His possession went straight to her head like tiny champagne bubbles.
With a cry, a sharp peak overcame her, but his whispered words in her ear brought her quickly to another.
The contractions were intense and powerful but not satisfying. As he levered onto his arms and pounded between her thighs, her body writhed, lifting to meet him, demanding more and more until she finally exploded in an outward expansion. Thousands of pieces flying out, a moment of nothingness, then floating back to make her
whole again.
As she collapsed into the softness of the comforter, she heard Sloan shout. He buried himself hard within her body, holding stone still as he emptied himself.
A part of her, she dimly thought, then accepted him into her arms when he collapsed. Absently she stroked the slick muscles of his back, wanting only to keep this connection from fading so reality couldn’t enter.
He groaned and moved against her but didn’t try to leave. His mouth traveled up her neck, settling below her ear as he nuzzled close. Sensation stabbed into her nipples, and her hips lifted in response.
With an appreciative chuckle, he slowly pulled away, then disappeared into the bathroom with his pants after a quick brush of his lips over hers. Who knew when sex worked, really worked, that there were so many shocks along the way? With this man, only this one, sex had been one incredible sensation after another.
She lay in the bed, absorbing the quiet, but as she stared at the chiffon strips of material that formed her canopy, tension rapidly spilled back into her system.
What was she doing here? In the rush of sensations, thinking had been beyond her. As panic set in, she jerked to her feet, rushing through the room to grab clothes and drag them back on.
Her regular clothes didn’t feel nearly secure enough, so she pulled a sweater from the closet and slid her arms inside, tightening its hold on her like a straitjacket. She stared into the dark depths of the closet, grateful for the nothingness for a moment.
Until her gaze focused in on her work clothes: suit jackets, A-line skirts, dress pants, severe button-down shirts. Work. She was a different person there. He was a different person—her boss.
The panic spread, making it hard to breathe. She didn’t even hear Sloan until he was right behind her. “Ziara, are you okay?”
She didn’t respond. She couldn’t with her throat closing. When his arms reached around to circle her waist, she jumped, whirling toward him, then backing into the darkness of the closet in a misguided effort at hiding.
“Hey, it’s all right,” he said, his voice still as husky as when he’d been moaning in her bed. “What’s the matter?”