by Dani Wade
Her head started to shake back and forth. “I can’t do this. I really can’t. We just can’t do this.”
She realized her eyes had closed, enfolding her in the darkness. After a deep breath, she opened them to focus on Sloan’s face just inches from hers. His breath warmed her cheek.
“Talk to me, Ziara.”
Sucking in air seemed a herculean task, but she managed, calling on years of maintaining a perfectly calm demeanor. When she could finally focus on Sloan in front of her, she took in his pale features without the protection of her normal walls. The thought almost started the panic again, but she shoved it away, tucking it down in a teeny tiny box to deal with later. Much later.
“I’m s-sorry...” she stuttered. “I’ve never had, whatever that was...”
“I think you had a panic attack,” Sloan said. His shoulders dropped as he relaxed, though his hands continued to cup her face. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” No, absolutely not.
“Want to tell me what brought that on?”
“I...I...” Just one more deep breath. “I guess it just hit me. What happened. What—what we’d done.”
He nodded as if her stream of consciousness made any sense at all. “Come here,” he said.
When she started to follow him, she realized her muscles had turned into Twizzlers. She walked, but it took all her concentration to keep everything from wiggling all over the place. Wow. Since when did sex turn people completely unstable? Of course, she’d felt that way ever since she’d met Sloan, so this wasn’t something new.
He led her to the overstuffed reading chair in the corner of the bedroom, where he settled and pulled her into his lap, all in one motion. Protest wasn’t an option. He simply did what he wanted.
Unconsciously her fingers made short, light strokes across the top of his pecs, exploring the light smattering of hair that rested beneath them.
“I’m going to ask one more time,” he said gently. “What’s going on in that little worry factory in your head?”
Any other time, she would have smiled at the analogy, because it was pretty close to accurate. But right now she couldn’t. “Sloan, this is completely wrong—”
“Doesn’t feel that way,” he said, his mouth nuzzling into the crook of her neck.
The shivers he elicited felt so good, but she gallantly reached for control. “Stop,” she said, proud of her firm, no-nonsense tone, though her attempts to stand were promptly thwarted. “Sloan, you’re my boss. I can’t believe I lost my head long enough to forget that.”
“I can.” She didn’t appreciate his grin. Her stern stare changed his tune. “Look. I understand this is a little unusual. But the fact is, I’m not technically your employer. Vivian is. And—” he continued a little louder when she would have argued “—I’m working with you temporarily. Once Abigail retires, you’ll go back to working in Vivian’s office.”
Her frown drew tighter as she realized he hadn’t come to the same conclusions she had. Vivian wasn’t going to keep her on, no matter what. Better to change tactics. “You’ll abandon the company?”
Luckily Sloan kept a hold on her when he jerked to his feet or she would have fallen. But he quickly let go to pace several feet away. He didn’t give her a chance to get steady before he started speaking, his voice rough and low. “What the hell? Why would you think that?”
“I...I didn’t mean...” Maybe it would be better to keep her mouth shut. She truly wasn’t sure where the question had come from, except she knew Vivian hadn’t been worried about Sloan being around long-term. She chose the safe route. “I know you have other companies, other projects.”
“Yes, but my father’s company means a hell of a lot more to me than those.”
Immediately guilt settled in Ziara’s stomach. In her own panic, she’d forgotten the whole reason Sloan was even at Eternity Designs. “I’m sorry, Sloan.”
For a moment he didn’t move, his tall body a looming tower, his head lowered as if in grief. But when his head lifted once more, none of that emotion showed on his face. He crossed the short space between them to take her once more in his arms. “Look, this will be fine. I’m only your boss for a couple more months, at the most. Until then we’ll keep this strictly out of the office.”
She couldn’t help but wonder if she accepted his reasoning simply to give herself permission to stay right where she was, burrowed deep in his warmth and masculine scent. But for once she was going to do what she wanted, not what the job required. “Agreed,” she whispered.
After a thorough kiss, Sloan cocked his head to one side. His nostrils flared as he breathed deep.
“What’s that smell?” he asked.
Sniffing, Ziara caught a whiff of Sloan’s citrusy scent, followed quickly by the sharp tang of burning cheese.
“Oh, no,” she said, rushing toward the hall. “The lasagna.”
Fourteen
Ziara was able to salvage most of dinner because only the outer edges had burned. Sloan found this very amusing and teased her as they ate.
“You are a great cook,” he finally said. “Who taught you?”
She picked up their plates and crossed to the sink, feeling a little too vulnerable still to face him. “I taught myself.” Turning on the water, she rinsed the plates. “My mom...worked a lot. I had to either cook or live off cheese and crackers.”
Not wanting to elaborate, she concentrated on cleaning up. Ever since her brain had come down from its mind-numbing high, she’d been struggling with conflicting emotions. She didn’t want to enjoy being with Sloan, and the fact that she did—although enjoy was way too mild a word for how she was feeling—was something she might not be ready to face. Being with him intimately hadn’t been dirty or sordid or even ordinary. And it wasn’t just the sex she’d enjoyed, it was the eating and talking and laughing....
Ziara was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice Sloan approaching until his warmth cradled her back. “What are you doing?” he asked, his hands resting on her hips. His moist lips nuzzled through her hair to the back of her neck.
More than anything she wanted to melt into his warmth, to experience again the joy of being a part of him.
“I—I’m cleaning up. What does it look like?”
“What if I want some more?”
Twisting in his grip, she tried to see his face. “Why didn’t you say something? You can have another plate.”
He closed in, his hips tight against her backside, giving her an unmistakable impression of his hardness. “I didn’t mean more food.”
Her breathing accelerated, currents of excitement jumping from his hands straight between her thighs. She wanted to stroke back and forth, letting every inch of her back discover every inch of his front. Then she’d turn and repeat the moves all over.
He was an addiction. A tempting treat. She could discover every texture and taste of his body, branding him as hers with her scent and touch. As his hands traveled from her hips to her breasts, she wondered if she was losing her mind.
At least she was enjoying the ride.
He turned her to face him, claiming her mouth with his. Slowly unbuttoning and unzipping her capris, he allowed them to slide down to the floor around her feet, followed quickly by her panties.
With a flex of his biceps, he lifted her onto the tile counter. A squeal rang out as her bare bottom met the chilled surface. He chuckled.
“That’s sadistic,” she accused.
He grinned, his dark gold hair falling softly from the crown of his head to frame his devilish good looks, reminding her of a Hollywood bad boy.
“I’m all about the sensations,” he said.
The grin quickly melted into a more serious look, making her feel like prey. Her heartbeat picked up again, and she tried to pull him to her, but he did
n’t budge. Layers disappeared: her sweater and cotton T-shirt, followed by the tank she’d put on in lieu of a bra.
He kissed her thoroughly, letting his hands trail down her arms, which he guided behind her and propped on the counter.
When he released her mouth, she found herself leaning back on her braced arms, her body on display for him to peruse at his leisure. Instantly awkwardness swept in. How could she let him see every little part that she’d kept hidden for so long?
When she tried to lift herself up, his hands on her shoulders held her still. After one dark look, his gaze moved down...along with his hands. She should have felt shamed, wanton in this position, especially when he pushed between her legs and propped her feet on his hips. There was absolutely nowhere to hide.
She let her head fall back and her eyes close. Therein lay her only protection from his onslaught.
Before he finally entered her, he had explored each and every part of her body with thorough intent, branding her with his touch.
She didn’t recognize the moans and whimpers erupting from her mouth. She only knew if she didn’t have him, she couldn’t make it through the next few minutes. His body in hers was a momentary relief, but when he thrust deep, the fire returned ten times hotter. She exploded within minutes, Sloan following close behind.
With their ragged breathing echoing off the tile, she didn’t even care about being put back together again.
* * *
Pulling himself out of Ziara’s bed at two-thirty the next morning wasn’t an easy or pleasant task for Sloan, but he forced himself to return to his own house. They needed to slow down—and certainly needed to downplay anything that smacked of a relationship, sexual or otherwise.
He’d tossed aside Ziara’s concerns last night and he stood by his decision on both counts. But he knew no matter what he’d told her earlier, Vivian would kick her to the curb the minute she discovered they were sleeping together. She was only barely tolerating Ziara after learning about the lingerie line.
So he’d stay in control. They’d be careful. He could have her and protect her—somehow.
When he’d suspected a mystery lay beneath Ziara’s cool exterior, he hadn’t known the half of it. He felt like he’d cracked that hard surface and found the richest pool of tempting dark chocolate, so deep he could drown in her.
Willingly.
That was the scary part. Her loyalty, her integrity, her professionalism—all wrapped up in the sexiest package he’d ever touched. It made him want the very thing he was trying to hide: a chance just to be with her. He couldn’t articulate the why of it. It was just Ziara.
Coming through the door to his office suite seven hours later, he barely controlled his double take. There sat Ziara, looking as calm, crisp and professional as she always did. He couldn’t reconcile it with the woman who’d wrapped her silky, toned legs around his waist while he gave her multiple orgasms the night before.
Looking at her now, he wanted to kiss color into her lips and cheeks. Better yet, make her eyes glint with mischievous passion. But that was in direct violation of their agreement. He barely controlled the impulse to rip every last pin out of her hair until it fell in a black cascade down her back.
Wouldn’t Vivian just love that?
As if sensing a presence, she glanced up from her desk, eyebrow raised in inquiry. A tentative smile peeked from her lips—not her normal professional greeting, but a small, secretive smile full of the knowledge of what they’d done to each other the night before.
He stalked to her desk and leaned forward onto his hands. “I want to tear your clothes off.”
Her eyes widened a bit before returning to normal. Her lips pressed together as if to contain a laugh, though it didn’t disguise their sensual fullness. “Shh, not in the office. Besides, Abigail called to say Vivian wanted you on the design floor in twenty minutes. A reporter is coming to interview y’all.”
He cursed under his breath. “Guess I’ll have to put my plans on hold until tonight then. The least you can do is come along and protect me from the big, bad dragon lady.”
He paused, giving her a moment to back out. Her subdued “Sure” swept through him like a victory dance. He wouldn’t jeopardize her reputation here at work, but he had to have her again. Soon.
* * *
Fatigue hovered at the edges of Sloan’s consciousness a few hours later. The reporter had been excited about something new and different to feature in an upcoming society page, and had snapped at least a hundred pictures of the design floor.
Ziara had tried a few times to head back up to the office, but Sloan or Patrick always distracted her before she could get away. Constantly conferring with her over details of the actual show and even some of the fabric choices had kept her in close range—exactly where Sloan wanted her.
But she’d definitely started to lag at the end, her normally calm tone growing short and her posture tight. The most trying thing, the one thing that seemed to tap her energy while revving up Sloan’s, had been Vivian’s disapproving stare. Oh, she’d managed to keep it out of range of the camera, but Sloan could feel the bad vibes emanating from her on more than one occasion. At least she seemed to be an equal opportunity dispenser of disapproval. No one but the reporter and Robert could do any right this morning.
Sloan just wanted to crawl back under the covers and sleep, right up against his naked assistant. Problem was, lunchtime had barely arrived.
“Check out the feature in the Sunday paper on the seventeenth,” the reporter threw back over her shoulder as she and the cameraman swept from the room.
Sloan could see his own weariness reflected back at him in Patrick. “Is it just me,” his friend asked, “or was that woman way too perky for anytime before lunch?”
A giggle slipped from Ziara’s lips, but she quickly went silent under Vivian’s disapproving gaze.
“Considering how quickly we’re trying to pull this together, we should be grateful for all the publicity we can get,” the stern matron said.
Ziara backed slowly away, disquiet leaking through the cracks of her professional facade. Patrick simply raised a brow and turned away, letting the comment slide over him like water off a raincoat.
“Ziara,” Sloan said, ready to get away from the old witch himself. “Let’s head back upstairs and get some work done before the whole day is gone.”
They arrived at the elevators together, slipping in just as the door opened, not realizing Vivian had joined them until they turned back to face the closing door. Damn it. Would this day never end?
“Since I realize a written report is a bit too much to expect from you, Sloan, why don’t you bring me up-to-date on where we stand at the moment?” she said.
Not seeing the point of haggling, Sloan gave her a quick rundown of the current budget and status on the design work. By the time he finished, they were in the upper hallway and Ziara was eyeing the door leading toward their office—and away from Vivian—with desperate yearning. Sloan couldn’t blame her. Vivian’s shoulders tightened the longer Sloan spoke, even though he presented the facts in a clear, dry manner. Any minute now she was gonna blow her top.
“And when are you planning to show me the designs for the...lingerie?” Vivian asked, making the word sound like trash to be picked up from the side of the road. Ah, here it came. “Or were you planning on surprising me, just as you did with Patrick?”
“I didn’t realize you expected me to run every idea by you, especially since your approval isn’t necessary,” Sloan replied.
Ziara pressed her lips together, her tension palpable. This did have all the makings of a pissing match and for once he’d rather be anywhere else. Like in Ziara’s cozy, colorful bedroom.
“I simply think that running things by me would show a little decency, since I am still the majority owner of this establishment.”<
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Sloan kept it short, but not sweet. “Decency isn’t part of our agreement.”
“You mean not a part of your agreement—or hers, I’m learning.”
“That’s enough, Vivian.”
She chose to ignore Sloan’s warning, turning the full force of her ire on Ziara. “You were supposed to be keeping an eye out on him, keeping me informed.”
“I did,” Ziara said with quiet dignity, though Sloan read unease in her carefully guarded expression.
“About everything?”
“Ziara is doing what she thinks is right for this company,” Sloan interrupted. “She loves Eternity Designs and wants to see it regain its rightful place in the market, just as I do.”
Vivian shot another glare over Sloan’s shoulder, so palpable it probably burned Ziara’s skin. “What’s best for Eternity isn’t her decision to make. It’s mine.”
“Typical of you, Vivian. Last I remember, your decisions ran this place into the ground.” Sloan’s voice was laced with so much venom he was surprised any of them were left standing. Years of resentment and loneliness surged inside him, anger over losing his father breaking through the surface. “Drop it. Ziara’s doing a damn good job bringing this show to life. She can’t do that and be at your beck and call all the time. Or don’t you remember how much work that really is?”
If anything, Vivian’s gaze turned positively glacial. “What I remember is all the work I’ve put into keeping this company afloat. Your father’s dream has kept me going since his death.”
“And you’ve shut me out,” Sloan fought back. He was in rare form today. “But that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
“I did what I thought was best, what your father would have wanted.”
Sloan stalked closer, the carpeting muffling his steps. “If Father wanted me out, why would he have bothered leaving me forty percent?”
“How would it have looked if he’d left his son with nothing?”
“You know, Vivian,” he said, “I don’t think he cared about how things looked nearly as much as you do.”