Книга - Scandal In The Boardroom: His by Design / The CEO’s Accidental Bride / Secret Baby, Public Affair

Scandal In The Boardroom: His by Design / The CEO's Accidental Bride / Secret Baby, Public Affair
Yvonne Lindsay

Barbara Dunlop

Dani Wade


His by Design by Dani Wade Sloan Creighton always gets what he wants. So when new employee Ziara Divan turns down his seduction attempts he’ll do anything to get her in his bed. Sloan will have his way – in business and in pleasure. But just as his plans fall into place Ziara’s past threatens to tear them apart…The CEO’s Accidental Bride by Barbara DunlopMulti-millionaire CEO Zach Harper is not going to split his inheritance with a stranger… Even if she is his wife! When his ‘fake’ wedding to Kaitlin Saville turns out to of been very real he offers her a job, vowing never to consummate their marriage. But some vows were meant to be broken…Secret Baby, Public Affair by Yvonne Lindsay She’d run from a disastrous betrayal straight into the arms of a sexy Italian aristocrat. From the moment they met, Blair Carson had been under Draco Sandrelli’s spell. She’d fallen into their affair with total abandon, without thought and now she was pregnant by a man she barely knew.













Scandal in the Boardroom

His by Design

Dani Wade

The CEO’s Accidental Bride

Barbara Dunlop

Secret Baby, Public Affair

Yvonne Lindsay






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




About the Authors (#ulink_e5e00686-a032-5bcc-ab43-96cac389fce6)


DANI WADE astonished her local librarians as a teenager when she carried home ten books every week – and actually read them all. Now she writes her own characters who clamour for attention in the midst of the chaos that is her life. Residing in the southern U.S. with a husband, two kids, two dogs, and one grumpy cat, she stays busy until she can closet herself away with her characters once more.

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author BARBARA DUNLOP has written more than forty novels for Mills & Boon, including the acclaimed CHICAGO SONS series for Mills & Boon Desire. Her sexy, lighthearted stories regularly hit bestsellers lists. Barbara is a three-time finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s RITA award.

A typical Piscean, USA TODAY bestselling author YVONNE LINDSAY has always preferred her imagination to the real world. Married to her blind-date hero and with two adult children, she spends her days crafting the stories of her heart, and in her spare time she can be found with her nose in a book reliving the power of love, or knitting socks and daydreaming.


Table of Contents

Cover (#u4707928d-ee2d-58aa-86d3-efb1a47905ee)

Title Page (#uc9a9b63c-ceff-5801-a3b0-9717e7d735fe)

About the Authors (#ulink_f745f051-1516-58bb-9526-6271cb392b23)

His by Design (#ulink_1a79c393-e554-5555-b319-52227a11dfb6)

One (#ulink_8c4c5c7e-136e-5555-ae14-a56308d18f9a)

Two (#ulink_2a8fd0a1-0bea-5702-905a-8769ed0100bc)

Three (#ulink_7be28884-2aba-5aa3-b764-6a71a2b76958)

Four (#ulink_f8f699bb-e85e-5031-be61-e390b41bb554)

Five (#ulink_a6c6c83f-c76f-5e9b-be6e-8684a099cea1)

Six (#ulink_8f9f0633-5f3d-51fb-97ec-77f2c88b8862)

Seven (#ulink_8d5a067e-71c0-5ccd-aba8-612e8786f503)

Eight (#ulink_12e42944-0011-5b76-ab94-4d45700c90f8)

Nine (#ulink_2f126eb2-edfd-5e7d-a0ed-860daf7d7ea3)

Ten (#ulink_b7596004-4fa9-55c6-8c5d-33596ea18e91)

Eleven (#ulink_b1038753-1890-5984-a9e3-fb26caefab70)

Twelve (#ulink_eed60a24-cdf1-56a1-b835-03be1a081794)

Thirteen (#ulink_f1c1da76-04c1-5c01-baae-9a8a2ad64616)

Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

The CEO’s Accidental Bride (#litres_trial_promo)

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Epilogue

Secret Baby, Public Affair (#litres_trial_promo)

Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


His by Design (#ulink_39f2ce74-d43d-51ff-bfbe-69ff8d6a45d4)

Dani Wade


For my fabulous editor,

Kathryn Lye


One (#ulink_54fd0ea7-267a-52ca-b132-fa406fbfce4a)

This was not how her morning was supposed to play out.

Ziara Divan rushed down the hallway of Eternity Designs, her brain pounding with the knowledge that she was late. Her cheeks burned as a result of her jog from the parking garage in workday pumps, and her suit skirt rode up the panty hose strangling her legs.

She threw her purse under her desk and grabbed her tablet from the drawer, turning it on as she continued down the hall with more speed than decorum. Rounding the corner into Vivian Creighton’s outer office, Ziara ground to a halt. Vivian’s assistant’s desk was empty.

Breathe, Ziara. Pull yourself together.

She straightened her clothes in an attempt to regain her prized professional facade. But the agitated urgency to move, to get into the office quickly, still pounded in her chest. She wasn’t perfect, but she made sure she came pretty dang close as an executive assistant in training, no matter how many minutes she spent stuck on a backed-up Georgia interstate.

As she struggled to regulate her breathing, Ziara heard voices from beyond the door to the inner sanctum. At first, she couldn’t grasp the idea that someone was yelling, because this was Vivian’s office. Vivian didn’t yell. It went totally against the traditional Southern rules of behavior for all ladies. But Vivian’s voice was definitely raised. Ziara inched closer.

The other voice was male, deep. Oh no.

“...will not let you ruin my father’s company...”

Sloan Creighton. Vivian’s stepson. He came into the office rarely, but when he did he brought a tornadic level of energy and caused an unwanted tingle of awareness at the base of Ziara’s spine. Though she studiously avoided him on his rare visits, he always seemed to find her. And flirt with her. And just generally turn her sense of professionalism upside down. The best reason to avoid him.

Vivian’s own voice was muffled, but parts of Sloan’s words came through the solid wood.

“...our biggest buyer rejected all the designs...”

Ziara’s heart sank, threatening to drop out of her chest. Her knees went weak enough to force her to grab the frame of the door.

Ziara had suspected that last week’s meeting with their largest retail account hadn’t gone as planned, but the few who had attended were keeping quiet. Losing that buyer could mean ruin for Eternity Designs, something Ziara didn’t want to see happen. She loved her job; this place, these people had also provided the stability and acceptance that had been lacking her entire life.

“...you have no choice...”

And neither did Ziara. She had to go through that door. Vivian had said to be in her office at eight sharp; it was now 8:17 a.m. But the thought of Sloan and the way his cool, effortless good looks and flirty attitude affected her body and her psyche made her want to return to the crowded freeway.

But backing down wasn’t an option. With a deep breath to fortify herself, she headed through the doorway.

Sloan stood tall over Vivian, his voice ringing clear in the room. “I will have more voice in Eternity Designs, starting now. I’ll need the next three months. If my fall line is a hit with our buyers, you will sign over enough of your shares for me to own fifty-five percent...and relinquish complete creative control. To. Me.”

Ziara paused just inside the door, her mind absorbing those incredible words, while Sloan and Vivian glared at each other across Vivian’s desk. For a moment Ziara’s panic overrode everything, even the tempting sight of Sloan’s strong shoulders and firm backside.

As the tension crept higher and higher, Ziara finally broke. Into the silence, she said, “Would you like me to come back, Vivian?”

Like pushing Play on a paused DVD, Vivian and Sloan both turned and looked in her direction. She met Vivian’s eyes first, checking in with her boss and mentor. The narrowed glare and tight mouth signified a frustration that radiated like a cracked web through Vivian’s normal composure. As if she realized how she must look, Vivian straightened, smoothing her elegant close-cropped curls into place. “Good morning, Ziara. Please sit.”

“Now, Sloan,” she said, turning her attention back to him. “Explain to me why I would ever agree to such ridiculous demands.”

Sloan was too happy to comply. “Let me guess, commissions are down, creditors are closing accounts and you don’t have a clue how to get yourself out of this situation.” He straightened with confidence. “But I do.”

“I’m sure I can find someone else to do the same.”

“In enough time to make a difference? I don’t think so.”

She conceded to her stepson’s ultimatum by leaning back in her chair, her composure shaken enough that she fiddled with the wedding band still gracing her left hand.

At least she didn’t seem to notice—or care—that Ziara was late. Sloan, on the other hand, started cataloging everything about her. His gaze traveled down the length of her body to her toes, then back up with leisurely enjoyment.

Dragging her own composure around her like a cloak that granted her invisibility, Ziara walked with measured steps across the carpeting to a chair beside Vivian’s desk. A glance from under her lashes caught Sloan’s interested stare zeroing in on the V of her suit jacket, where the modest edge of a lacy camisole peaked into view. With a great struggle, she forced herself not to adjust, to hold still while his eyes wandered back up to her vulnerable neck. The knowing smirk on his contoured lips sparked arousal beneath her irritation, confusing her further.

Damn man. She could see why Vivian found him so infuriating—professional behavior seemed to be a foreign concept to him. She’d seen the spark of interest before, though never quite this blatantly. Of course, his simple presence had always created an uncomfortable heat in her core that prompted her to keep any previous meetings as short and far apart as possible.

If she’d simply passed him on the street, Ziara would never have suspected him of the professional dedication he was displaying now. His collar-length, sun-streaked hair and the slight crook of his previously broken nose said “surfer boy” more than it did “hard-hitting negotiator.” But the perfectly tailored dress shirt and pants, paired with his take-no-prisoners attitude, demonstrated the real man inside. His electric-blue eyes confirmed her suspicions that his core was pure steel.

She was thankful when he turned back to his stepmother. “This is my father’s legacy we’re talking about, Vivian. I save other people’s businesses every day. Resurrecting Eternity Designs is right up my alley,” he said.

“Yes,” Vivian said, letting the word draw out. “Your...fix-it-up business.”

“You could call it that. I call it the very lucrative process of taking failing companies and turning them into profit-making machines. Too bad you didn’t get in touch with me sooner, but then you’d have to admit that you screwed up.”

The slap of Vivian’s hand on her desk made Ziara jump. She watched her with wide eyes, shocked by the venom scarring Vivian’s normally genteel facade.

“Your father didn’t trust you to take care of his legacy enough to leave it all to you. Why should I?”

Sloan stalked back and rested his hands on the desk, so he could loom over his stepmother. “And whose fault was that? Who slipped poisonous thoughts into his mind from day one, turning him against me so he could be yours and yours alone? Hell, Vivian, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you set his whole will up. You’re the one who made him insist I go for my MBA instead of continuing to pursue my own plans of fashion design, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do. After all, going from Daddy’s assistant to his wife meant you got to control his entire life and not just his business, didn’t it?”

Oh. Dear. Ziara’s lungs shut down, trapping the air inside. Vivian’s early involvement with Eternity Designs had never been explicitly discussed. Ziara had simply assumed she’d started working with the company sometime after she’d married Mr. Creighton.

The knowledge left Ziara reeling. How many times had Vivian admonished her that only tramps got involved with their coworkers? Ever since her childhood, when Ziara had been bullied because of her mother’s lack of morals, she’d avoided anything that would suggest she was the same. Vivian’s lessons had simply reinforced Ziara’s focus on professionalism and the building of a flawless reputation.

Vivian’s hand shook as she pointed at her stepson. “Don’t talk to me that way, Sloan. It’s disrespectful. Your father would never approve of your tone.”

Sloan leaned in, hard. “Well, he’s not here to reprimand me. If you wanted my respect, you should have tried earning it a long time ago. Now it’s too late.”

“It’s never too late to expect you to be a gentleman. But we just couldn’t get those lessons to stick.”

Sloan laughed, collapsing into the chair as his body shook with a tainted kind of humor. Ziara felt like she was watching a tennis match. Sloan clearly thought he was the winner.

Vivian conceded with less graciousness than Ziara had ever seen her display, but then again, she’d learned quite a few new things about her mentor in the past ten minutes. Vivian hadn’t always been a lady. Disbelief still ricocheted throughout Ziara like the ball inside a pinball machine.

“Fine, Sloan. Do whatever it is you do,” Vivian forced out through clenched teeth.

“I’ll have that in writing, I think,” Sloan said.

“As demanding as you are, I’m amazed anyone will work with you.”

“Oh, I’ll manage,” he said with a cocky quirk of his shapely lips.

“Not alone, you won’t. The last thing I need is you wandering around unattended.”

“Aw, Vivian. I didn’t know you cared. Oh wait, you don’t,” Sloan said with saccharin sweetness.

“I care about Eternity Designs,” she said.

His gaze scanned Vivian’s face as if to determine the catch. “Anyone you saddle me with better know what they’re doing and how to take orders.”

“Oh, I have no doubt she’ll work like a charm...and be able to keep you in line.”

Ziara’s heart picked up speed when Vivian’s elegant, bejeweled fingers waved in her direction. No. No, no, no. The effort to hide her sudden panic and appear in control might just give her a heart attack.

Vivian’s voice trickled through her consciousness, breaking her inward focus. “Your history with assistants is well-known, Sloan. They crawl all over you like bees in honey. That won’t be an issue with Ziara. I’ve trained her well. She knows more about how we conduct business here than anyone except my own assistant. And her behavior is impeccable—unlike yours.”

What was she—a slave girl at auction? Would the buyer prefer pretty and pliable or plain but talented? Though dependable was exactly the look she was going for, the thought still disconcerted her.

“Well, Vivian, isn’t that thoughtful of you?” he said.

Ziara glanced up to find Sloan’s gaze directed her way. His earlier anger had turned his bright blue eyes icily sharp, his body rigid, his jaw tight. But now he eased back in a chair, propping his elbows on the arms. His fingers absently stroked the upper ridge of his lip, drawing her attention to the sensuous curve of his mouth. His turbulent look suddenly softened like ice thawing beneath a heat lamp.

Her emotions seesawed as his gaze traveled south, visually caressing the extra length of leg exposed by her hasty drop into her chair. She could almost feel his touch sliding along the edge of her skirt, tickling the sensitive skin on the backs of her legs.

Bit by bit, Ziara used up her willpower forcing herself to sit impassively. The twitch of her thighs urged her to shift her feet, but she resisted. That would tell him just how much he affected her. Tightening her muscles, she tried to crack down on the spreading fire, to no avail. Ignoring physical desire had never been a problem before him.

Her new boss.

Her soothingly subtle gray business suit, so comfortable in the luxurious air-conditioning only moments ago, now felt heavy, itchy. Her nipples peaked against their confinement. She felt that he peered through her professional armor to the woman she kept hidden deep inside.

How could a simple look make her so aware, too aware? As if she lacked something only he could provide.

As casually as possible, she adjusted her position and her skirt, covering her legs down past her knees.

Knowledge leaked into his eyes, as well as smug satisfaction. He did that on purpose. Feeling a need to defend herself, she met him with a flick of her lashes. Slowly she lifted her left brow.

He grinned, not at all intimidated by her challenge. “Be in my office and ready to work first thing tomorrow morning.”

She could handle his antagonistic, dismissive tone; she welcomed it to counteract her strange reaction to him. Unlike efficient orders and professional expectations, the sensations created with that hot, hard stare set her nerves on edge.

But she could handle it. She’d pulled herself up from a sludge-pile existence and become a woman with goals and dreams and skills. She could control herself for the three months it would take to get Eternity Designs back in the spotlight and earn her stripes as an executive assistant. But how was she going to control him?

* * *

Ziara. Her classic beauty and calm demeanor distracted Sloan from Vivian’s condescension. Staring his new assistant down made him hotter than he’d been in a long time. Vivian’s insistence that Ziara wouldn’t follow the path of his previous assistants didn’t worry him. As annoying as it had been to replace three employees in less than two years because they insisted they were in love with him, he might have to pursue this woman. Her pretend lack of interest challenged him, but turning Ziara’s head could provide plenty of ammunition in his war with Vivian.

How ironic that the very thing he’d avoided in his professional life—intimate involvement with an employee—could give him a leg up in this situation. It felt wrong even thinking that way, but winning her loyalty could give him the freedom to do whatever he wanted without Vivian’s interference. He needed every advantage to fight against Vivian. His stepmother was totally immune to his charm, which drew cheeky toddlers, blue-haired dames and women of every age in between. If Vivian had been a typical trophy wife, at least Sloan could have fallen back on his practiced grin and genuine appreciation of the female species, but, instead, dear old Dad had the foresight to marry a savvy woman. One steeped in Southern tradition and brimming with a Southern belle’s ingenuity to survive. Too bad her temperament had always favored Scarlett’s machinations as opposed to Melanie’s sweetness.

She viewed his father’s memory and Eternity Designs as hers; Sloan was a threat to her reign as queen. His frustration had been building over this situation for years and he let it out for once.

“We need to shake things up,” he said. “We can’t afford to lose our biggest account because we’re afraid to break out of the mold. Reliance on tradition is getting you nowhere. Eternity Designs needs a modern edge, a new designer, a revamped portfolio. Pronto.”

That was exactly what Vivian didn’t want to hear. “Your father prided himself on the tradition inherent in this company and its designs,” she said, elegantly restrained anger sharpening her tone. “This discussion demonstrates exactly why he chose me to continue the legacy of Eternity Designs.”

Not you.

The wedding gown design firm had been in his family for three generations—if his current 40 percent share of it counted for anything. With Vivian, it didn’t. But the words of the accountant told him now was the time to insist on the control she’d denied him for so long.

“The whole company will go under if something isn’t done immediately.”

“Sixty percent ownership doesn’t mean you’re God,” he said, ignoring the burn of betrayal. “It’s a good thing dear ol’ Dad isn’t alive to see how you’ve run it into the ground.” Yep. Payback was a bitch.

A quick glance revealed Ziara stiffening, in surprise or defense he wasn’t sure. If she knew what the posture did for her magnificent breasts, she’d hunch in on herself for eternity. He paced back and forth in front of Vivian’s desk, arousal and frustration fueling his restlessness. The business expert in him was tired of talking.

The man in him begged for a totally different kind of action.

Watching Ziara’s reactions to his and Vivian’s little fight fascinated him more than he would have thought. Her exotic, raven-haired beauty brought to mind sensual, spice-scented nights. What would she look like with that thick bun let loose around her shoulders? With that suit jacket loosened up a few buttons? Seducing her out of her loyalty to Vivian was going to be such guilty fun.

He’d avoided getting involved with his employees like a contagious disease, to the point that he hadn’t even had an assistant for six months. But his desperation called for outrageous actions—like storming into Vivian’s office this morning. Finding out Ziara had given up company loyalty for carnal indulgence would probably mean a quick dismissal, but he couldn’t let that stop him. For Ziara this was a job; she’d find another one soon enough.

For Sloan, Eternity Designs was a legacy.

Vivian’s haughty belle persona reappeared. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, Sloan. Overconfidence leads to nasty downfalls. Those unconventional methods of yours won’t work in such a traditional company.”

“Those unconventional methods are just what Eternity needs. Less tradition, not more.” He turned to Ziara. Might as well put her to the test first thing. “What do you think? Is Eternity’s current path leading to success?”

“I...I...” Her almond-shaped eyes flicked back and forth between him and her mentor, panic darkening their chocolate color. After a moment she said, “Our designers do beautiful work, enough to build a loyal following. Families come here generation after generation to commission their dresses. Our motto, our focus has built a legacy. I have no proof otherwise.”

Test number one: fail.

Vivian echoed Ziara’s words. “Eternity Designs is truly where tradition and style forever align.”

Quoting the company’s motto as a defense ramped up Sloan’s anger. He needed to save this business. His father had worked hard to build it. He’d loved it just as Sloan did. Despite their differences at the time of his death, the 40 percent he’d gifted to Sloan in his will told him his father had wanted him to have some small part of his family’s heritage. He had to believe that, had to believe Vivian hadn’t poisoned every ounce of their father-son bond.

He glared at them both. “Maybe our motto needs to change.”

Ziara held very still, the only movement the frantic pulse beating at the base of that silky throat. But Vivian sighed heavily, with a touch of drama. She would have called it flair. He knew he wouldn’t like what came next.

“I’ve been thinking about options to get us through this little slump. I have a few friends who might know potential backers. That should tide us over until spring.”

Shock immobilized Sloan for a moment. Then a sharp spike of panic sliced through the numbness. Then another...and another. “We’re not letting an outsider buy into this company.”

“I’ll do what I have to in order to save Eternity.”

“Except call in the one man whose skills would provide the lifeline? Did you honestly think I’d sit back, mouth shut, while you let Eternity go out of the family?” He straightened, the hardball negotiator stepping onto the court. “You know me better than that, Vivian.”

With a blink, uncertainty leaked into Vivian’s eyes. “I truly don’t understand why you’d care.”

He shook his head slowly, sorrow over the state of his relationship with his late father leaking underneath the anger. “That right there proves how little you know me...or knew my father. This place was his life—” in the end more than even his son “—I want nothing more than for his life’s work to continue, to prove to his memory I’m more than you made me out to be. A hard worker, capable of contributing to the family dream, instead of a slacker who cares about nothing but myself. You’re still looking at me as a grieving kid, Vivian. Not the man I’ve actually become, the man my father saw in me before he died.”

But the tightening around her mouth told him she’d never see it that way. After years of convincing her husband that his only son was impulsive and undependable, repeatedly citing his teenage antics, his father had left her with the majority ownership of Eternity Designs. That’s all she cared about.

“Sloan, I would prefer to keep this inside family lines, such as they are. So I’ll stand by my word and give you a chance. But in the meantime, I’ll be working on a backup plan.”

It wasn’t much of a compromise, as they went, but he’d take what he could get. He needed carte blanche over the fall line. Because if Vivian knew the plans gathering mass in his mind, she’d shut him down in a heartbeat.

Her mouth pulled into a strained smile. “Just don’t go forgetting who is in charge around here.”

“I won’t. We’ll pretend you’re in charge while I become the linchpin holding everything together.”

It was a low blow, but he was beyond caring. Vivian straightened, her shoulders squaring as the pinching around her mouth deepened. Then a calculating look slid across her face, warning him he was about to pay for his disrespect.

“I have a caveat of my own. If you should happen to walk away before the fall line is presented—” her tone said she could happily run him off with a shotgun “—then Eternity Designs will become solely mine.”


Two (#ulink_a92dddc0-ae9e-5238-91a1-d45b4645f28b)

Nothing like a new challenge and a gorgeous woman to work with.

Sloan listened to Ziara’s movements in the outer office as he sat at his desk. He’d wondered whether she’d postpone coming in until the last minute, but here she was thirty minutes early, moving into her new office.

Yesterday she’d both confounded and fascinated him. Her exotic, Indian beauty stirred many un-bosslike urges. Her attempts to keep that beauty under wraps teased his senses. Did she think pulling her luxurious dark hair tight into a bun and covering those shapely legs made her a better employee? It probably did in Vivian’s eyes, but Sloan was a whole other matter.

Something she’d learn soon enough, and hopefully enjoy. Though he’d never seduced any of his employees—he spent more time running from than running after—he wasn’t above using this mutual attraction as one more tool to secure control of Eternity Designs. He would need her help to understand how things worked around here, to facilitate his relationships with the other employees after being shut out in the cold since his father’s death. If tempting her loyalty in his direction meant the reports to Vivian became fewer and further between, or even stopped, all the better.

Crossing the room with a heightened sense of anticipation, he eased through without alerting her to his entrance. She stood behind the desk, the chair pushed aside to give her room to reallocate her personal stuff. Her movements were elegant but efficient as she placed pens and papers in the desk drawers. Her careful concentration told him she had a precise way she wanted things and she’d find a way to create order in this new space.

He barely held back laughter as he sized her up. He was a red-blooded male and his body naturally heated despite her choice of clothes. She’d opted for a longer skirt and boxier jacket, as if that would hide the curvy shape of her hips and ass. But it was the scarf he found most amusing. From the back, he could see the curl of material around her neck. Did it merely cover her throat in the front, or had she gone all out to hide every single hint of bare skin, tucking the ends into her jacket?

Didn’t she realize that don’t touch me attitude set her up as his own personal challenge?

“Settling in okay?” he asked.

Her jerk of surprise should have made him feel guilty, but he suspected he had to sneak up on this one before she cut him off at the knees with her stern librarian attitude.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m almost ready.”

“No hurry,” he murmured, tracking the glide of her fingers over a few pictures. No people that he could see, just atmospheric photographs of simple wooden bridges, each in a different season. She arranged them carefully along the top of the nearby shelf, then reached into the remaining cardboard box once more.

Pulling out an object wrapped in cotton batting, she uncovered it layer by layer. She steadily revealed a glass object inscribed with words that she rubbed over a few times with the wrapping.

Too quick for her to stop him, he lifted the object from her hands for a closer look. “What’s this?” he asked.

“Be careful.”

“Ziara, you wound me,” he said with a cheesy helping of drama. “I promise not to drop it.”

The cut-glass award was shaped in the outline of a flowing gown, inscribed with the date and Employee of the Year. Ziara Divan. “Employee of the Year, huh?”

“I’ve worked hard to get where I am.”

“And where is that exactly?”

“If all goes well, I’ll be promoted to Vivian’s personal assistant when Abigail retires next spring.”

“Wow, a full-fledged executive assistant at the tender age of—”

She drew a deep breath, as if he were a toddler trying her patience. “Twenty-seven.”

“So young to be so buttoned-down.” He aimed a pointed look at her scarf, which did indeed drape down to cover that delectable collarbone and upper chest.

“There are worse things to be.”

“Like what?”

For a moment it looked like she would speak, but then those full lips pressed tight. Her hand extended, palm up, and her perfectly manicured fingertips curled in a give it to me gesture. “Behave, please.”

He stepped closer, moving past her invisible keep away signs. “Let’s get something straight here, Ziara. You’re playing by my rules now. I’d imagine I have seriously different requirements for becoming Employee of the Year.”

She swallowed hard. “Excuse me?”

She reached for the award, moving her body even closer to him, and he used the opportunity to snag an edge of the scarf. Luckily for him, it was only loosely twisted and unraveled like a dream from around her neck and into his hands.

Award forgotten, her hands clamped to her bare neckline, then she glared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“A little employee training.” He rubbed the material between his fingers but resisted the urge to lift it to his nose and find out if it smelled like her. Vanilla and cinnamon spice. “I’m not nearly as stuffy as Vivian. I don’t run my office that way.”

“Mr. Creighton—”

“Uh-uh. Sloan.”

He was surprised she could talk through teeth that tightly clenched. “Sloan, your behavior is inappropriate in the extreme.”

“Is it? Are you going to charge me with sexual harassment?”

That cool eyebrow lifted in condemnation. “If I have to.”

Her response was so unexpected, he almost choked. Man, he sure enjoyed a woman with spice, but she didn’t need to know that. Yet. “Oh, I don’t think you will.”

She opened her mouth, but he continued on. “I know Vivian gave you this job for a reason.” He leaned even closer to her, watching her heartbeat speed up in the well of her collarbone. “And not just because you’re organized and can turn in paperwork on time. After all, she knows something about assistants and their access to—how can I say this diplomatically—company secrets.”

Not even an attempt at a response this time.

He pushed a little harder. “Isn’t that right, Vivian’s little spy?”

“That’s insulting.”

But she didn’t look insulted. The waver of her gaze and uncertain look meant one thing: guilt. “There’s no point in pretending, Ziara. Vivian put you here to keep an eye on me, and report back everything she needs—or doesn’t need—to know. But that’s okay.”

Her eyes jerked back to his, widening to give him a great view of chocolate irises shot with gold sparks.

“Just remember,” he said, “forewarned is forearmed.”

For long seconds neither of them moved, gazes locked in either a worthy battle or forbidden attraction, he wasn’t sure. All he felt was the blood pumping hard in his veins and an excitement he hadn’t brought to a job in many, many years.

With shaking hands she finally pulled the award from his grasp and turned to place it on the corner of her desk. Then, she pulled out a thick folder from a drawer of the filing cabinet. “Here is information on the current preparations for the fall line. I thought—”

He lifted the file from her unsteady hands, resentment that he had to rely on her for information mixing with the other emotions roiling through him. “What do we have here?”

She managed to maintain an outward calm. Almost. “Actually, I thought you might like me to familiarize myself with the project you’re here for.”

Her eyes begged, a moment of peace, but he wasn’t in the mood for mercy. “Let’s take this discussion into my office.”

* * *

A spy, he’d said. She’d never really thought about it that way.

How had she been promoted from executive assistant in training to spy in one morning? Proving herself to Vivian had been a long-held goal, but doing it now could put her in a very awkward position.

One last glance at her Employee of the Year award stilled her spinning universe. Looking at it, her uneasiness and frustration melted away and her resolve strengthened.

This is what I want. I’m almost there. Becoming executive assistant to the CEO of a major design firm had been her goal from her first day at Eternity Designs. At twenty-seven, the finish line loomed much closer than she’d dared to hope, despite the lack of money for anything other than a trade school degree.

She’d grown up with nothing—no, less than nothing. Oh, they’d technically had enough to live on, but every spare cent had gone for slutty clothes and accessories for her mother to attract the newer, better sugar daddy around the corner.

She’d dreamed of escaping from the trash that still stained her heart into her own office situated right outside of her role model Vivian Creighton’s. But would the price be worth this sacrifice?

Vivian and Sloan are playing a game and I’m stuck in the middle.

Ziara was smart enough to realize it. Her firm loyalty to Vivian notwithstanding, her choices from here on out had to be dedicated to what was best for Eternity Designs. That was her only guarantee of keeping a clear conscience.

Vivian had given her a long lecture on all things Sloan yesterday afternoon. He’s not to be trusted. Why wouldn’t his father have just given him the business if he wanted him to run it? He’s up to something, I know it. Ziara had questions of her own, concerns about a man who spent his life reviving companies but completely ignored his family heritage until it was almost too late. If Sloan truly sought to ruin the company, as Vivian had also suggested...well, she wasn’t about to let him put anything over on her.

She’d just watch closely and learn to deal with him. She’d always been a stellar student. If she hesitated before crossing the threshold into his office, it didn’t mean anything. Drawing in a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders. A little over three months and her training period would be complete. This was simply a small bump on a long road.

She pushed the dilemmas from her mind and entered the room.

Sloan had chosen a corner office at the opposite end of the building from Vivian’s, his windows overlooking the sidewalk and shops that lined the streets in this part of town. Quaint, with a touch of subdued elegance, Ziara had always thought, and easily accessible through a MARTA stop only a few blocks away.

Instead of the soothing cream carpet prevalent in the rest of the offices, the flooring here had been replaced with dark wood planks. A desk just a shade or two darker dominated one corner, facing out so that Sloan could see the entire room, from the door to the floor-to-ceiling windows. He crossed the thick blue-and-burgundy rug to stand before them now, hands in his pockets, looking down from the fifth-story view.

For long moments he remained silhouetted against the lightened windows. His strong shoulders spoke of strength and shelter. The line tapered down to his waist, where his hands in his pockets drew the material of his dress pants across the high, firm cheeks of his backside.

Ziara shook her head slightly, grateful he couldn’t see her. Being close to this overwhelmingly masculine presence on a daily basis had the potential to open up a whole host of dark desires she preferred to keep locked deep inside. Choosing a leather chair a safe distance away, she sat, primly crossing her legs at the ankles. She held herself rigid as she prepared to take notes, make phone calls, whatever he wanted of her.

“Did you know this was once my father’s office?”

Surprise skittered through Ziara’s controlled pose. “No,” she murmured.

“I used to play right here on a rug while he worked,” Sloan said. “I used to watch him stare out these same windows, while he worked out problems.”

His voice was easy, soft with memory. He started to pace, firm steps along the length of the windows. Two glorious views. Candy for her sweet-starved eyes.

But warning lights started flashing through her brain as she thought about his words. She’d never had any type of loving parental relationships, and had cut all ties with her mother at the age of seventeen. But Sloan seemed to feel very passionately about his father, despite Vivian’s insistence that Mr. Creighton had found his son a huge disappointment. Why had Sloan—

No. Thinking about Sloan’s private life—his childhood, wishes, regrets—could not lead to anything good. Personalizing him outside of their business interactions would weaken her objectivity. She had to focus on work, not skipping through fantasyland.

After a minute or two, he clasped his hands behind his back, his long fingers tapping against his palms. “First things first,” he murmured. “Where to start—”

“I’ve got a list here from Mrs. Creighton, and—”

His laughter echoed through the room, the sound truly amused rather than the nasty version she’d heard in Vivian’s office. He paused in his imaginary trek to catch his breath and clutched his chest in mock astonishment. “Surely you jest. I don’t think so, sweetheart. We’ll be doing this my way.”

Well, that’s reassuring. Ziara had a feeling she was about to get a lesson in all things Sloan—and it would turn everything she’d planned for on its ear. She pulled out her handy-dandy tablet to take notes, since that seemed to be her only function here.

“We’ll need new ideas, new designs, definitely a new designer,” he said, his voice so matter-of-fact that she blinked for a moment, unable to handle the transition from sexy hunk to demanding boss that quickly. But she managed to pull herself together.

Then his words truly registered. Yikes! A new designer definitely would not go over well.

Sloan continued. “Something splashy. Something to draw in big buyers, get people talking, get them curious...”

He dropped into the chair behind his desk. “Presenting the line, one buyer at a time in the studio, is standard fare. We need a fireworks show, not a firecracker...I’ve got it!” Sloan jerked to his feet, palms slapping on his desk with enough force to startle her. “We’ll bring fashion week right here to Atlanta, Georgia. We’ll put on a fashion show.” He started to pace, throwing ideas out with such enthusiasm that she found herself pulled into the spirit without even realizing it. Before she knew it, he had location ideas, preshow party ideas, guest list suggestions, and on and on until he ran out of steam about an hour later.

Ziara’s fingers ached from typing so fast; even she had to concede to Sloan’s intelligence. Once he latched onto an idea, he thought through every angle—catch, plus and minus. Very impressive. If he truly had plans to destroy Eternity Designs, he was going about it the wrong way.

Glancing up in the sudden silence, she found Sloan staring directly at her. She should have been alarmed, afraid of what he might see, but she had sunk so deeply under the spell of his voice that she merely floated.

His eyes widened at whatever he saw in her own, then flashed with a heat that echoed deep inside her core. The connection remained taut for long moments as the heat gained momentum like a house afire.

Only when it threatened to burst out of control did Ziara panic. She bent her head to focus on the tablet still sitting in her lap. Though she felt hot enough for her fingers to burn it, the tablet was miraculously unsinged.

A new kind of heat enveloped her—embarrassment. As Sloan approached, her teeth worried her lower lip. Would he say something? Think she’d changed her mind about him? Think that she was silently asking him to come on to her? With her limited experience, she wasn’t even sure what kind of message she’d just sent. As her imagination picked up speed, Sloan paused a few steps away.

Then he continued around his desk and sat with a squeak of leather. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his elbows settle onto the arms of the chair as if familiar with the pose, his fingers forming a peak with his fingertips. Relief swept through her, a cooling breeze, though it couldn’t extinguish the fire altogether. She chose to ignore it.

“So we’ll be putting on a fall fashion show this year. You’ll need to book the venue and start construction on the backdrop. Some plans can’t be finalized until closer to the actual date, but pick out invitations, contact the modeling agency so we can line up models, all that stuff.”

He leaned forward, his gaze seeing into the distance. “My focus will be on finding the right designer to carry out my ideas.”

That was a discussion she’d prefer to postpone for, oh, forever. A new designer would shake the foundations of Eternity, regardless of how wonderful he was.

“And what would those ideas be?” she asked, poised to type. How was she going to tell Vivian all of this? Ziara was excited by some of the plans, but change was definitely not Vivian’s forte.

Sloan grinned, resorting to his ample sex appeal in the blink of an eye. “Uh-uh. I’m not giving it up that easily.”

Their eyes met and held. In the aftermath of their earlier connection, his bright blue gaze unnerved her more than ever. Not only did it threaten her internal control, it made her want to clamp the top of her jacket closed to hide every hint of cleavage. She pressed her thighs together in a purely feminine gesture of defense.

Slowly he rose and circled the desk, leaning his hips against the front. The angle allowed him to tower over her, while inadvertently giving her a level view of—

No, she wouldn’t look. Her fight-or-flight instincts kicked in with a rush. She needed a few moments away from this man’s disturbing sensuality. Heck, a few hours would be better. Rising to her feet, she said, “If that’s all, I’ll start—”

“Ziara.”

Her fingers fiddled with her tablet while her gaze examined the polished floorboards.

“I expect hard work out of all my employees. I don’t think that will be a problem with you. But trust...trust has to be earned, doesn’t it?”

The guilt burned deep inside, because she knew she’d have to tell what she’d learned to Vivian—sooner rather than later. But it was her strong work ethic that just might tear her in two. Her dedication demanded she do what was right for Eternity Designs; her loyalty demanded she do anything Vivian asked of her.

“Though hiring and firing is Vivian’s department for now,” he continued, his voice deceptively benign, “be aware you wouldn’t be in this office if I didn’t want you to be.” He stopped an arm’s length from her, bringing the icy heat of his gaze closer, stinging her conscience. “You have your own reasons for being loyal to Vivian.”

She heard the implied question behind his statement. She swallowed, the urge to speak unnerving. How could she describe all Vivian had done for her, the hands-on coaching and molding of her abilities? She opted for short and sweet.

“Vivian saw my willingness to do a job right, even as a simple secretary. To uphold the ideals of this company.”

“Where tradition and style forever align,” Sloan murmured.

A slight smile tugged her lips. Her chin lifted. She knew her intentions here were right, no matter what anyone else thought. Pride in her hard work, in pulling herself up from the bottom rung of the ladder, refused to let him condemn her loyalties. “Yes.”

Sloan stepped even closer. The urge to retreat exploded in her belly. Her muscles jumped to high alert, tightening in preparation for flight.

“I, too, value hard work, initiative and loyalty.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “Just don’t forget who you work for now.”

The pressure of his stare proved too much with Vivian’s expectations still flashing neon in Ziara’s brain. Her gaze fell, grazing his fit body to the tips of his Gucci dress shoes. A short nod was all she could manage.

She wasn’t likely to forget anything about Sloan.

Still, the need to push back rose. “Wanting to uphold the values of this company isn’t a bad thing. After all, it is the way your father wanted this business run.” She ignored the twinge of her conscience. The truth hurt. This time, she leaned closer to him. “People other than you are allowed to care about this place, you know.”

Something flashed across his face that she couldn’t quite read, but it encouraged her to push harder. Not for Vivian. Not for her job. For Eternity Designs. “If you would just tell me what you’re trying to do here instead of leaving me in the dark, then maybe I could help.”

He met her halfway, crowding into her personal space with a sexy grin. “You’ll have to try harder than that to access my...secrets.”


Three (#ulink_b9a746b5-3d04-58b3-b495-ab4bca9ae7ab)

Sloan took a deep breath and wrestled with his libido for a moment before managing to lock it down. How could the simple sounds of Ziara at her desk turn him into a dirty old man? Well, not quite old, if the level of urgency he felt was anything to go by.

They had a long day ahead—he was pretty sure she was going to hate him by the time he was done, but as the saying went, he had to get rid of the old to make room for the new.

He would need Ziara’s help to carry out his plans without permanent damage. Robert and Anthony were indeed good designers, but designers who needed a serious shake-up. Vivian had offered Ziara for her expertise and he planned to conquer a large portion of his new territory today.

After a moment of silence, Ziara peeked around the door. “Do you need me for anything this morning, Mr. Creighton?”

Oh, honey, I need you for something really bad. Even though it was totally inappropriate, he couldn’t tame the thought. Once again Ziara was wrapped in a narrow skirt and suit jacket, although this one was a dark chocolate-brown that complemented her eyes, bringing out the golden flecks with a glimpse of a silky gold camisole. A little better, though seeing her abundant hair pinned to the nape of her neck just made his hands itch to let it all loose.

He shifted in his seat. “I’ve got a full agenda today. Where do we stand so far?”

Ziara’s efficiency impressed him. Not only had she started contacting people and places yesterday, she’d made a detailed list of the facts so he could compare easily and make decisions.

Old business out of the way, he straightened his shoulders, preparing to face the hardest part of the day. “Let’s take a trip down to the design floor and see what’s what with the Old Brigade.”

The Old Brigade was the employees’ term for the two main designers who headed and vetted all the dress designs for the company. Though by no means original, they’d each been with the company for over fifteen years.

Ziara hesitated, frozen for a moment like a deer caught in headlights at dusk; then she gathered her tablet and smoothed down her skirt.

He let her maintain her silence as they crossed into the hall, but he couldn’t afford for her to hold back. Everything might as well be out in the open.

He stopped in the middle of the deserted hallway. “Look, Ziara,” he said, turning to face her. “One of the reasons you’re here is to help me with intercompany relations, schedules, procedures, et cetera. Right?”

“Yes, Mr. Creighton.”

The prim purse of her full mouth had his brows rising, a grin tugging at his lips. “Didn’t we decide on Sloan? After all, over the next three months, we’re going to be spending a helluva lot of time together.”

Her lips tightened a touch more before she conceded. “Yes, Sloan.”

Teasing her out of that “strictly business” attitude was way too much fun. “Now, I can’t do my job if you don’t do your job—”

A weighty protest formed in her eyes, though her face remained calm. This woman’s responses were seriously under wraps. He had to look very closely to catch the signals, but they told him some genuinely hot emotions hid beneath the surface. “Don’t get me wrong, you’ve been very helpful. But I need an honest rundown of what I’m facing on the design floor today.”

“I—I—”

“Honesty. Right now. Got it?”

“Why do you need my opinion? You said you’d been here often as a child.”

“And as a child I noticed the person most important to me—my father, and the place I spent the most time—his office. The rest? Not so much. I haven’t set foot on the design floor since I was ten.”

Her gaze zeroed in on his face for a moment, then she spoke. “Anthony and Robert are very talented designers.”

Keeping his irritation from showing proved a little easier beneath her disapproving glare.

“The trouble will come from Robert—he’s ruled the design floor through talent and overpowering personality for years. Anthony’s a sweetheart, but don’t take his lack of attitude for subservience. He’s soaking it all in, processing it in his own time and making his own decisions.”

He grinned. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

The low growl from her throat surprised him, sending a shock of sensation right where he didn’t need it. Keep it light. Best to just move on. “Let’s go.” But he was getting a really good idea how to provoke her into an honest response.

Just irritate her beyond measure.

The elevator took them down to the third floor and they stepped out onto the observation deck. The design department occupied most of the second floor, but the large exhibition space below could be viewed and accessed from the open walkway they now occupied.

As he and Ziara made their way down the spiral staircase, Ziara’s heels clicking on the metal steps, the designers appeared to be gearing up for the day.

“Ziara,” Robert exclaimed as she descended the last two steps. “What brings you to our little kingdom?”

Anthony simply smiled and wrapped her in a half hug. Her smile was natural and easy, but she didn’t return the touch. Interesting.

“I wanted to introduce y’all to Mrs. Creighton’s stepson, Sloan Creighton.”

The designers exchanged a look, but it didn’t display as much alarm as Sloan had anticipated. Nor resignation, either. His Spidey senses started to tingle.

“Yes, yes,” Robert said, leading the way by offering his hand. “I believe I remember James mentioning you to us, Dieu ait son âme.”

God rest his soul, indeed. Out of the corner of his eye, Sloan could see Ziara glance his way. Since it was obvious from their benign reception that neither designer had a clue what was coming down the pike, Sloan decided to play along.

“Vivian tells me you two are working on the fall line. I’d love to see the best of Eternity’s upcoming designs,” he said, ignoring Ziara’s sudden stare.

The men were only too happy to show off. Too bad they didn’t realize they were arming him to take them both down. They exchanged excited glances, then walked toward the display boards in unison.

Sloan stepped closer to Ziara as they followed. “Just relax and follow my lead,” he murmured from the corner of his mouth.

After listening to Robert expound on the sketches for over half an hour, Sloan was definitely unimpressed. Just as he imagined their buyer had been.

When Robert finally wound down, Sloan’s voice filled the stillness. “Did you listen to anything that buyer said?”

The men stiffened, but there wasn’t anything they could say in their own defense.

Sloan pushed forward. “She said the designs were stale. She said the dresses were old-fashioned. Not classic. Not retro. Those are buzz words. Compliments. Stale is not.” He gestured toward the stack of drawings. “Nothing has changed here. Nothing. I can find this same thing in any bridal magazine—from ten years ago.”

“How would you know what the buyer said?” Anthony asked, his voice sounding weak after the booming quality of Robert’s.

“And who do you think you are, to come in here and criticize our work?” Robert added.

“I am now the creative director of Eternity Designs’s fall line. From here on out, all decisions from this department must be approved solely by me.”

The silence was so absolute it rang loud in his ears. Robert’s face gradually turned a shade of purple and Anthony’s eyes flicked back and forth between the other people in the room as if he expected someone to tell him what was really going on here.

Finally Robert spoke, his voice coming from deep in his barreled chest. “Ziara, if this is a joke, it isn’t funny.”

“He isn’t kidding, Robert,” she said in her most soothing voice.

“Look,” Sloan said, impatient with the theatrics. “We have a lot to do and a very short time to do it in. Whether you were informed of this decision previously is not my problem. Getting Eternity Designs back on track is—and I’ll be doing it my way.”

“Why would we need—”

“Are you truly going to pretend you don’t know why I’m here?” Sloan met Robert’s blustery gaze directly. “You may not pay much attention to financial statements while you’re down here in fantasyland, but I know for a fact you were present when the Bridal Boutique buyer ripped your designs apart. Would you like me to go into more detail, or do you remember it for yourself?”

Anthony again joined the conversation. “No, we remember it well enough.”

“Good. I am here to get Eternity back in the black and at the forefront of the wedding apparel industry. So for the next three months you will answer to me—and only me.”

“We won’t do it,” Robert insisted. “After thirty years as a designer, I refuse to have my ideas approved by an amateur.”

“Then I’ll bring in someone who will.”

Harsh. But he knew from his own history that sometimes the hardest lessons were the most memorable...if you used them to your advantage. Just like he’d turned his father’s rejection into professional success.

Moving swiftly across the space, Sloan lifted the entire stack of drawings and dumped them into a nearby trash can. “Start over.”

Ziara and Anthony gasped at the same time. But it was Robert he continued to focus on, the leader of this little group. Bring him to heel and the rest would follow.

Robert sputtered his indignation while Anthony’s face crumpled as if he was going to cry. How in the world could he get through to these yahoos?

Sloan didn’t anticipate Ziara’s sudden tight grip on his arm. She pulled him out of hearing range and turned to face him.

“Do you really think this is the way to gain their cooperation?”

He tried to focus on her words, but his own frustration quickly morphed into desire as she moved close enough for them to hear each other without eavesdroppers. All that solid, testosterone-induced drive melted into liquid desire that pounded in his veins with a thrumming rhythm. Lord have mercy, how had this woman gotten under his skin so quickly?

“I don’t need their cooperation. If they don’t do what I tell them, they’re out of here.”

A repressive frown marred those full lips. “Robert and Anthony have always been the stars of Eternity Designs. You should treat them with more respect.”

How could those lips, pressed tight like a disapproving schoolmarm’s, still come across as sexy? He was actually struggling to follow her words. Him. The king of keeping things professional.

“Don’t you see, Ziara, that’s the problem,” he finally managed. “They’ve had people kissing their asses for years, with no challenges to their work. They think they can give a minimal effort and still be put on a pedestal. And Eternity suffers for it.”

“They do work—”

He could almost kiss her for the concern in the dark depths of her eyes but it was misplaced. “Not enough. Where’s the market research, the fresh, new ideas? They don’t just happen by playing around all day. Continued success takes more effort.”

Understanding made a reluctant appearance in her gorgeous brown eyes. For some reason it made all the difference in the world to him. “I know I sound harsh. But they’re grown men who’ve been catered to for years. A polite request isn’t going to even make a dent.” Reaching out, he brushed his thumb along the softened curve of her jaw. “I do have a method behind my madness, I promise.”

The feel of her silky skin beneath his touch was magic, along with the warmth and subtle catch of her breath. They both froze in surprise for a moment. It was all Sloan could do to resist brushing his lips over the same spot.

Whoa. This was the design floor, not a nightclub...not even the privacy of his office. And judging by the utter silence laced with antagonism behind his back, Sloan knew Robert wouldn’t hesitate to throw around accusations of sexual misconduct. With Ziara’s approval or without it.

He took a careful step back, letting his hand drop to his side. “Just remember something—I wouldn’t be here if they’d been doing their jobs right in the first place. Okay?”

Her nod was firm, though her eyes were still a little dazed.

This meeting needed to get back on track. “Ziara,” he snapped, but with a little less bite than he’d used on the men. “The tablet, please.”

She hurried to obey, giving him a moment to regain his focus before turning back to the others. When she handed over the device, he noticed the care she took not to touch him again. After a moment of tapping on the smooth surface, he paused, looking up at the group around him.

“Current trends favor retro designs, new twists on the old, avant-garde as well as classic.” During his recent research, he’d seen some unique retro looks in the fashion and wedding magazines, and they had sparked his own creative imagination.

“In less than three months, I’ll be showcasing our newest designs during a professional fashion show. We’re going to bring fashion week right here to Atlanta. It’ll be an exclusive, invitation-only event that I want people talking about for months.”

As Sloan continued to explain the fall show, excitement crept over the anger that had tightened the designers’ faces. He might have punctured their egos earlier, but now he was tempting them.

Lifting the tablet, he turned it around to face them. “Every event needs a theme, a focal point. This is ours.”

“A car? Are you insane?” Robert yelled, returning to his angry disbelief.

“Not just any car, a Rolls-Royce. A classic car epitomizing the elegance, sleek design and subtle sensuality of the late 1930s. An era where women flaunted sexy curves, draped their bodies with fabrics that showcased their femininity, and set out to entice the opposite sex. Think of the actresses of the time—Marlene Dietrich, Mae West, Vivian Leigh. The dresses they wore—the draped material, exposed backs...”

He caught a glimmer of understanding in Ziara’s eyes. Knowledge of where he was going with this idea.

“Ridiculous,” Robert insisted. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve heard in my lifetime.”

Sloan wasn’t backing down. “We’re going to do this and do it right. Get on board, or jump overboard. Your choice.”

* * *

When had work started feeling like a taffy puller?

Ziara waited until Sloan left the building for lunch before heading to Vivian’s office. Her stomach cramped, knowing Vivian would have already heard about the upcoming show, but also knowing she couldn’t blatantly walk out of Sloan’s office straight to his stepmother’s.

Observing Sloan for two days had taught her one thing already—he wasn’t playing. His knowledge this morning showed he had done his homework on the market, design, themes, even fashion shows. He’d been calm but firm, occasionally harsh, with Robert and Anthony. Stepping solidly into a leadership role, even if he had to do it by force.

Most disturbing of all, his ideas for the show intrigued her.

With some organization, this could be an incredibly successful event, one the upper classes of Atlanta society would flock to in droves. Eternity Designs would be on the tip of everyone’s tongues and the front page in the society section. Notable brides would once again be drawn to the showroom for one-of-a-kind dresses.

But to her shame, Sloan’s appeal continued to taunt her on a more physical level. Vivian had insisted she was the last woman who would be tempted by Sloan’s charm, but the need that had crawled into her body at his singular touch frightened her. She’d seen her mother move from man to man, taking whatever they could give her, using her body to manipulate them. Mixing business with pleasure was the last thing Ziara wanted in her life. The level of temptation here actually scared her bone deep.

Abigail gave her a sympathetic look as she entered the room. “She’s waiting on you, Ziara.”

I bet she is. Her hand pausing on the doorknob, Ziara only let herself hesitate a second before going in.

“Ah, Ziara,” Vivian said from behind her antique desk. “I see you have finally deigned to bring me news.”

Vivian gestured for her to sit. The walk across the room distracted Ziara from the uneasiness caused by Vivian’s words. “I felt it appropriate to wait until Sloan left for lunch—”

“Why? He’s surely aware that one of your jobs is to keep me informed. Next time I want to hear it from you, rather than the office grapevine.”

Yes, but I couldn’t bring myself to rub my choices in his face. She’d probably heard from the Old Brigade, who’d run to Vivian to tattle the minute they’d realized they were losing control.

Ziara wondered if they remembered Vivian had once been a mere secretary—and how long it had taken them to accept the new order of things when she took over. Given the evidence from this morning, Ziara didn’t think acceptance had come quickly.

“I’m very excited about this new idea for the line’s presentation,” she started.

“Ah yes, the fashion show. I hate to admit it, but I’m seeing the merits of this plan myself. I want a full report.”

“I’ve just started working on the details. I’m looking into venues, modeling agencies and such.”

“Keep me informed as everything takes shape.”

Ziara murmured, “Yes, ma’am,” under her breath, but Vivian was already moving on.

“Make it good. Getting some choice buyers in here will make this the must-have ticket of the fall season. I’ll have Abigail get you a list of contacts, and I want to know as soon as the RSVPs come in.”

If Sloan was a train squishing her on the tracks, Vivian was a wrecking ball, destroying Ziara’s calm handling of this difficult assignment. Her mentor ran through a laundry list of items she wanted Ziara to check into, almost doubling the amount of work Sloan had given her. She saw quite a few late nights in her near future.

“Since you will be in the thick of all of this, Ziara—” Vivian’s spine straightened as if bracing herself for what was to come “—you should know...if our largest buyer pulls her orders, as she has threatened if the line doesn’t move in a more modern, unique direction, it will put the company in a very disadvantageous financial position.”

Even Vivian’s attempt at genteel diplomacy couldn’t hide the facts: Eternity Designs was in deep financial trouble. The confirmation of the actual problem had Ziara’s stomach dropping like it would on a roller coaster, a ride she avoided getting on at all costs.

Coming to work here, helping to build some of the finest dresses and dreams, had been like finding her true home. She wasn’t ready to leave.

Vivian’s fingers spun her wedding band in an endless circle. “So you can see how very important it is for the fall line to be not just good, but spectacular. By putting you in his office, I can let Sloan think he’s in charge until we see what he decides to do with the fall line.” Vivian’s heeled pump set up a twitchy rhythm. “I’ve known him for a long time. He’s sneaky, deceptive. His mother’s lower-class roots are showing, I guess.”

Ziara controlled the surprise that threatened to bloom on her face. Social standing had always been important to Vivian, but Ziara had never before seen evidence of prejudice.

“I know you said he was rebellious as a teenager.” Perfectly normal, in Ziara’s opinion. “Why would you think he’s up to something now?”

Being on the receiving end of Vivian’s glare wasn’t comfortable.

“Haven’t you ever heard that a leopard never changes its spots?” Vivian asked. “Besides, there are rumors that he uses some rather ruthless tactics to get his way these days.” Her pen tapped against her desk. One thump, then two. “He’s up to something,” she continued. “And I need to stay on top of it. You need to stay on top of it.”

Ziara wasn’t sure if the turmoil gaining ground in her gut was troubled conscience or the guilt of temptation, but she couldn’t simply ignore it. “Vivian, I really, well, I simply think that someone else might be more suited to working with Sl—Mr. Creighton. I could easily coordinate the show details from—”

“His office. That’s where I put you and that’s where you will stay. Or is there some reason you would request a change?”

The last thing Ziara wanted to do was explain the ins and outs of the past two days. If only she could make Vivian understand... “Honestly, I don’t feel very comfortable with the position I’m in. If you think Sloan will stop anything he’s doing because of me, well, he won’t. I just—”

Vivian’s head tilted slightly to the side, her brown eyes studying Ziara with sudden intensity. For the first time in a long time, Ziara wanted to hide from her boss, to squirrel away the reactions she had to Sloan just as she had the secrets of her past. Vivian would never accept her if she knew either one.

“Have I not done enough for you, Ziara?”

Not expecting the attack, Ziara found herself speechless.

“Have I not taught you all that I can about running this business, about behaving professionally, about coming out ahead of those not willing to put every ounce of effort into their jobs?”

“Yes, ma’am. You’ve been more than generous.”

“Then why do I suddenly feel like all of that effort has been wasted on the wrong person?”

Panic shot deep, mixing with the fear Ziara carried on a daily basis: that one day, everything she’d worked so hard for would crash down into a pile of rubble. She would not go back to being the uneducated girl condemned by everyone around her.

“I certainly don’t want you to feel that way,” Ziara said over the pounding of her heart. “I’m very grateful—

“I see plenty, Ziara,” Vivian snapped, her eyes as harsh as her tone. “And what I’m seeing isn’t gratitude, understand?”

Knowing she’d overstepped Vivian’s invisible limit, Ziara conceded quickly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You’ve worked very hard to get where you are, Ziara. That’s why I chose you to succeed Abigail as my executive assistant when she retires later this year.”

At the praise, a glow bloomed beneath her fear. She’d yearned to be recognized for her accomplishments for as long as she could remember. First at school, then at community college, from her first job till now. Though she hadn’t found validation at home, her move to Atlanta had been the start of a whole new life.

“I’m confident that you’ll do what’s best for Eternity Designs.” Vivian stood, her posture and classically tailored business suit a picture of authority. Ziara moved quickly to join her.

“This position, though difficult, will also be excellent training for you, and I don’t have to worry about the Creighton good looks turning your head like some of the less dedicated girls around here. Do I?”

Ziara realized the question was rhetorical, so she simply shook her head, keeping her growing doubts to herself. Oh, she had no intention of falling into bed with a man like Sloan Creighton. On the other hand, how did she keep his charm and obvious business smarts from influencing her away from what Vivian wanted?

Vivian moved on, unaware of Ziara’s fears. “By the time we come out of this, Eternity Designs will be set for the future. I’ll be in charge, and you’ll have that job as my E.A.”

Ziara shifted in her heels. “But what if he succeeds? How can you risk him gaining a majority’s ownership if you don’t trust him?”

Vivian turned away, her face hidden as she crossed to the window. “Don’t worry,” she said, twisting her wedding ring around her finger again. “I’ll take care of that.”

Knowing she’d been dismissed, Ziara retreated to the safety of the outer office, where Abigail waited with a kind smile and some lists.

“Thank you, Abigail.”

“No problem, sweetie. Just let me know if you have any questions.”

How about, Will I make it through this without losing my freakin’ mind? Or, Is everyone going to hate me before this show is over? But she said nothing, conscious for once of exactly how alone she was.

Walking through the doorway, she found Sloan leaning against her desk. Her stomach dropped to her toes and a flush suffused her cheeks. The guilt was probably glaring out from her downcast gaze and shifting feet.

Where was this guilt coming from? A shot of surprise jolted through her at the answer. The guilt didn’t stem from tattling like a four-year-old. That was the best thing for Eternity Designs...for now. She simply didn’t want to face him knowing she’d tried to get out of working with him. Her feet stuttered to stillness and she swallowed, praying her voice would work at this point. “May I help you with something, Mr. Creighton?”

Those bright blue eyes, so full of life earlier today, were now cold enough to freeze the devil himself in his tracks. His mouth crooked up on one side, his boyish good looks now brittle around the edges. Oh yeah, he knew what she was up to, and there was no defense against that knowledge.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

For some unknown reason, she couldn’t brush this moment aside with professionalism or tactful confusion. “I don’t know, either. You told me you understood my duties here.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Me, either.

Ziara struggled to return to that place where she was strictly a secretary performing an assigned task, but she couldn’t. Some kind of barrier had been breached with his touch earlier today, and she was very afraid there was no going back from it.

She had the distinct feeling he wouldn’t let her go back even if she tried. His next words confirmed her suspicions. “Too bad I can’t give you what you really deserve.”

“And what would that be?” she asked, though the naughty mischief melting the iceberg should have warned her she’d moved into dangerous territory.

“A spanking.”


Four (#ulink_78d468ca-5a37-54ec-b097-57b78aa1b429)

The next few days went by relatively smoothly as Ziara discovered the ins and outs of working for Sloan Creighton.

He liked his coffee black with just a touch of sugar for sweetness, but he only drank it in the morning. After eleven, he switched to Mountain Dew. He came into the office around nine-thirty every morning, smelling of citrus and a spicy undertone after his daily game of racquetball. He paced while he dictated letters, his long legs performing for her benefit alone. While dreaming up new show ideas, he liked to lean back in his chair with his Gucci-clad feet propped on the edge of the desk.

She often caught a glimpse of him standing at those floor-to-ceiling windows watching people walk by five stories below, deep enough in thought that she’d close the door behind her with extra force to remind him of her presence.

She was getting to know him way too well.

This new knowledge was uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as the suspicion that he was cataloging some things about her, as well. Those damn eyes! Not to mention the occasional spicy remark, like that spanking comment, that she pretended to ignore no matter how outrageous he got. The last thing he needed was encouragement.

Today shattered the routine when Sloan hit the outer door like a bull. She hadn’t seen that controlled anger since his first day, that contained heat he’d wielded against Vivian like a fine-tuned weapon.

“I’ve got a lot of calls to make, Ziara. Don’t bother me.”

“Yes, Mr. Creighton,” she said reverting to formality in her confusion. She watched those long strides carry him into his office, the door slamming behind him. Definitely a good day to keep her head down and work on clearing the clutter from her desk.

A few hours of muffled yelling and banging later, she decided now was probably a good time to escape. She made her way through the corridors to the design floor. Anthony met her a few feet in with a quick and quiet hug. He knew exactly why she was here. Leading her across the room, he showed her the new shipment of sample materials scattered across a large table.

“Robert is very upset with me,” he said. “He thinks I’m a sellout.”

Ziara glanced over his shoulder at the normally boisterous man now sitting quietly at a drafting table. “Why would he think that?” she asked, keeping her voice low to match Anthony’s.

He gestured toward the materials. “Because I ordered these.”

Ziara took in the mixtures of cream, pinks, barely there blues and an almost yellow color on a display table that was normally white, white and white. “Hmm. I can see where that would be a problem.”

“I’ve tried to move Robert in new directions for years now, especially as grumblings surfaced from the buyers. But he just won’t listen.”

“I don’t think Mr. Creighton will give him that option.”

“Well, maybe he will succeed where I have failed.” With a sad smile, he wandered back across the room, leaving Ziara alone for what he knew was her favorite pastime.

Picking up the nearby invoices, she started matching the materials on the table with the names and prices on the sheets of paper. She studied the fresh array of colors, the textures, drape and a myriad of other things.

In an ideal world—where she would have had a supportive family, scholarships and no need to be her own sole support immediately after getting her GED—she would have been a supplier, searching out the finest materials, the best deals for the entire company in accessories, gemstones, beading, lining, everything. As it was, she could spend hours immersed in the research but allowed herself only small windows here and there. Luckily Anthony wasn’t threatened by her presence or interest, so he’d spent many a minute teaching her bits and pieces. Bless his heart.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Ziara froze, her hand buried in a pile of pink-tinged satin. To her knowledge, Vivian didn’t know about her little visits here. Yet it hadn’t taken Sloan a week to uncover her secret.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Creigh—um, Sloan. Did you need me for something?”

When he squeezed the back of his neck as if to relieve the tension gathered there, she couldn’t help but sympathize.

“I definitely need you, Ziara. Don’t you know that?”

Her gaze zeroed in on his face, searching for the intention behind the words. His bright blue eyes were now tired, but a shiver of awareness still snuck down her spine. No matter how he looked, no matter what he said, she felt he was bringing her to an awareness of him as a man—and herself as a woman.

She murmured, “I’m happy to oblige.” Then cringed inside at the many ways her words could be misinterpreted. She straightened as he moved closer. He reached toward her stomach, which tightened in anticipation—but his hand bypassed her to explore the materials on the table beyond.

A smoky-blue chiffon, almost gray, held his attention. “Very nice,” he murmured, the sound almost seductive, as though he was encouraging...something. He lifted the material, testing the feel, weight and drape.

His hands fascinated her, the long fingers with their neatly clipped nails a sharp contrast to the fragile-looking material. But his eyes drew her, too. Those bright blues had darkened as if he were looking inward rather than at the material he handled so skillfully.

“What is this?” he asked.

“It’s a light chiffon, mostly used for accents and layering,” she said.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he glanced at her in surprise. “Been studying your materials, have you?”

Warmth flooded into her cheeks and chest. “Anthony has been teaching me.”

Rather than the condemnation she’d expected, his eyes softened in appreciation. “Show me.”

* * *

Sloan found himself entranced as Ziara explained the contrasts between silks, chiffons, satins and numerous other materials used in dressmaking. Not over the information itself, even though it was appreciated, but the unguarded spark in her eyes.

Then there was the show: her slender arms lifting each material to demonstrate its ability to drape, the thickness and what it might be used for.

“You could have been a supplier,” he said, drawn in by her enthusiasm.

The stillness that invaded her body told him he’d hit a sore spot, even though her lowered lashes hid her expression from him. Not quite understanding, he asked, “Why didn’t you? This stuff obviously interests you.”

The muscles around her mouth tightened, then she raised her guarded gaze. “Fashion production and supply chain management degrees don’t come cheap.” She started sorting the material by color. “Tuition was nonexistent for me, so that type of dream wasn’t even on the table. I looked at my options and chose what worked with my skills. It wasn’t until I came here that I realized how interesting this side of the business could be.”

“Your parents weren’t able to help?”

Her mouth twisted. “Not even close. It was just my mother and me, anyway. She didn’t think school was worth much.”

“What about your guidance counselor? If your grades were good, scholarships could have helped.”

“Maybe in another life.”

The spark of curiosity that ran through his body was exciting but dangerous. He took the leap, anyway. “Why?”

Finally she stopped rearranging the material so she could glare at him. “Look. I came from a really small town, even more southern than Atlanta, with not enough money and very few options. I worked my way through secretarial school with two jobs, eating peanut butter from a spoon every night. Not everyone needs a high salary and trust fund to be successful.”

That should have stung—and it did, but not in the personal way he expected. He could see how hard she must have worked to attain her level of success at such a young age—which meant this wasn’t just a job to her.

She wasn’t just Vivian’s pet.

He couldn’t think about what that meant to his plans. So he let his mind conjure pictures of her caressing the fabric. Within seconds, he began to visualize designs: a sleek gown of pale pink satin, almost bright against her dark skin, drifting low over her naked back, accented with white diamonds and silver thread. The smoky chiffon shaped into three-dimensional flowers at the shoulders of a structured gray, almost silver, silk dress. The creamy yellow draped tight across her torso in tiny pleats that met at the curve of her hip, then released into a waterfall of softly lilting, creamy white feathers.

All of them made exclusively for the incredible body before him.

His horrible morning dissolved under the rush of creative energy.

“What are you thinking?” he heard her say, her voice echoing slightly as she pulled him from his own head, that place where he created all the things he needed, wanted, with the easy strokes of his mind.

It didn’t matter whether it was building plans, an office design, extensive renovations...or, apparently, wedding dresses. He had only to envision it and the lines appeared in the forefront of his mind. It was very helpful, incredibly productive and totally intoxicating.

Which was the only explanation he had for what he did next. Reaching around her to the desk, he snagged paper and a drawing pencil. The move brought him flush with her side, prompting a surge of heat wherever their bodies met, though he forced himself to move away quickly.

He could tell she felt it, too, by the widening of her eyes and the way she held her breath. He shoved the materials on the table aside and started to draw. Within minutes, he had a simple outline of the pink satin dress he’d imagined, though he kept the distinctive characteristics of the model vague.

“Wow,” she breathed. “That’s gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

Her smile warmed him, intoxicating in its sincerity. He often had the feeling that she simply responded to him the way she should, the way an assistant was expected to respond to her boss. Not this time.

Fire lurked beneath the surface of this buttoned-down babe, and he desperately wanted to release it—even if he was her boss.

“I mean it,” he continued, anxious to avoid the temptation of his thoughts. “You’ve shown me exactly what I need.”

Before he could do something stupid like kiss those full red lips, he pivoted on his heel and walked away. Now that he had a direction, he knew just how to carry it out.

Eternity Designs would never be the same.

Sloan stalked down the hall toward the elevators, the adrenaline still thrumming through his veins. Pictures of Ziara racing through his mind.

“How’s your new assistant working out, Sloan?”

Damn it. He’d been so close to the open doorway!

He pivoted to find Vivian standing in the shadows. Had she been waiting for him to walk by? Had she watched as he and Ziara talked?

“Great choice, Vivian. She’ll serve me just fine, I think.”

Vivian studied him with the same barely tolerant expression she’d used after many of his teenage escapades. “What’s wrong?”

Ah, the pitfalls of working with someone who’d watched him grow up. He moved a few steps closer. Lowering his voice, he tightened his control over the high levels of excitement, frustration and arousal still surging through his veins.

“It won’t work, Vivian. Whatever reason you have for planting Ziara in my office—it won’t work. I’m still going to do what I think is best for Eternity.”

Patronizing was the only way to describe her smile. “I know exactly where Ziara’s loyalties lie. She’ll do the job I gave her.”

“I’m going ahead with my plans, regardless.” The feel of the sketch held securely in his grasp brought a surge of certainty. He was on the right path; now he needed the one person who would help him carry it out.

“So you’ve talked the Old Brigade into actually carrying out your crazy theme?” she asked, concern dampening her smug demeanor. Ah, she’d be so happy if he was stuck working with her two lackeys, wouldn’t she?

“Robert and Anthony will fall in line soon enough.” His chest tightened as all his earlier frustration rushed forward again.

She shook her head slowly. “Not according to Robert—I believe his exact words were ‘over my dead body.’”

Her smug expression shattered his control like nothing else could have. “I wouldn’t get too tickled if I were you.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m about to turn Eternity Designs upside down.”

The ding of the elevator signaled his escape. Sloan strode through the doors and turned back to see Vivian’s perplexed expression just as they closed.


Five (#ulink_caa7916e-0f4c-547d-9835-2bf41d3a6060)

Ziara dished up her quick version of paella into an oversize, bright green bowl, pausing a moment to inhale the spicy scent of peppers, andouille sausage and shrimp. Padding across to the table, she savored the coolness of the tiled kitchen floor on her bare feet.

After a long, deep drink of sweetened tea, she picked up her book in one hand and her fork in the other. Having survived her rough day at work, her mind craved the relaxing and safe surroundings of home. An early start to her weekend.

She’d worked so hard for her house and turned it into her very own sanctuary. Most important, it was as far from the environment she’d grown up in as possible.

Only here could she let down the defenses. She could safely indulge her passion for cooking, love of reading and flair for color.

She desperately needed that in the aftermath of her confusing response to her boss. Sloan was flirty, no doubt about it, but she’d always held herself to a higher standard. To think a few smiles, some genuine listening and one hot touch could turn her sensible head made her very angry—with herself.

The first bite of paella ignited a burn on her tongue that spread like flash fire up the walls of her mouth to the roof and inner edge of her lips. Yummy, but she suspected her turbulent thoughts had made her heavy-handed with the spices.

Ziara jumped at the jangle of the doorbell. She rarely had visitors—no family, no close friends. It was only five, so it was still fairly light out. Daylight savings time wouldn’t hit for another month. Maybe it was a salesman or one of the neighbors’ kids fund-raising for school. She sighed.

Traversing the short hallway linking the kitchen with the living room, Ziara paused to glance through the small window that ran down the side of the door. She wasn’t above pretending she wasn’t home.

The silhouette on the other side didn’t quite register at first except to look vaguely familiar. Then, in an instant, it felt as if the heat from the paella exploded at the base of her neck and spread along her skull. Surely that wasn’t Sloan so casually posed in the shade of her front porch?

She jerked back, suddenly vulnerable in her cotton yoga pants and old T-shirt, so thin it offered little to no coverage.

Cringing when the doorbell rang again, she looked up to find Sloan blocking the view from the window. Well, he knew she was here. Good manners insisted she open the door and see what he wanted. Muttering under her breath, she decided she now had a very personal reason for being irritated.

Grasping the cool metal of the knob, she pulled the door open just enough to see his handsome face.

“Sloan,” she said, her voice more a question than an acknowledgment. She didn’t issue an invitation, but apparently he didn’t need one. Placing his palm flat on the door, he pushed inside, walking by her as if coming in was his right. She stood dumbfounded for a moment, then closed the door and leaned back against it, her arms crossed beneath breasts that tingled in his presence—without her permission.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her tone implied that seeing him was as far from a pleasure as she could get. She’d been well on the road to relaxation, but now her back was military straight and the muscles on each side of her neck tightened in protest. Even worse, she couldn’t decide if it was because she didn’t want him here...or because she did.

“Hi.” He flashed his usual confident smile.

Up went her brow. He studied her expression with interest before his gaze moved to his surroundings.

A sense of invasion rose from the pit of her stomach, overriding the awareness that always seemed to come with his presence. She shifted uneasily as he walked around the room, gliding a finger along her favorite fleece throw and pausing to examine the exotic lines of the dancer in the picture over the mantel.

“Sloan,” she said when the tension ratcheted up to an unbearable high, “what are you doing here?”

He faced her, his calm expression mocking the tremble that had slipped into her voice.

“I’ll tell you,” he said, “if you give me a plate of whatever smells so good. Suddenly I’m very hungry.”

No, her mind screamed. She didn’t want his presence lingering in her home, but short of pushing him back out the door, she had no idea how to refuse.

Sucking in a deep breath, she led the way back to the kitchen, ultraconscious as she passed him of the air grazing her bare arms and the gentle slap of her feet on the uncarpeted floors.

Crossing to the cabinet, she decided she might as well comply and find out what was going on. With efficient movements, she fixed him a plate and drink before settling him at the opposite end of the table from her. She ignored the smirk on his face as she returned to her seat.

He lifted his fork, then sniffed appreciatively before meeting her eyes.

“I know the perfect designer.”

“I wasn’t aware we needed one. We already have two.” His knowing look had her admitting, “Okay, we have at least one willing to help.”

“But I’ve figured out the one person who can bring my vision to life.”

His epiphany obviously accounted for the change in his mood, but not his presence—his most unwanted presence—here. “I’m glad. Couldn’t this have waited until Monday?”

He shook his head, then hefted a heaping forkful of rice and spicy meat to his mouth. It had to be a sin to watch those sculpted lips close around anything, even something as innocent as a fork.

She didn’t warn him about the heat. He’d probably just blow it off with some macho line. Besides, he was part of what had led to all that spice in the first place.

Suddenly his eyes widened and he coughed, just managing to keep the food in his mouth long enough to swallow. She leaned back with a feeling of satisfaction as his hand shot out for his glass. That would teach him not to push his way in where he wasn’t wanted.

“Wow,” he said after a long drink of iced tea, “that packs a wallop.”

Watching him dig back in without a hint of hesitation, she thought, Yes, it does. “I’m glad you like it,” she murmured, instead.

He cleared most of his plate, all the while studying her with intent looks that burned more than the food burned her mouth. Goose bumps spread along her skin despite the heat of the food.

She pushed her long hair back behind her shoulders, licking her dry, spicy lips. “Does Vivian approve of the new designer?”

“On the contrary, she’d have a very genteel hissy fit if she knew who he was.”

She hesitated. Her gaze locked on her nearly empty plate before braving another glance at him. “So you haven’t discussed this with her?”

He shook his head, waves of dark blond hair caressing the masculine angles of his face. “I don’t plan to clue her in anytime soon.” He leaned forward. “Do you?”

She leaned forward, too. “Let’s get one thing straight. Whatever actions I take are for the good of the company. Convince me of the merits of your plan, and you won’t have to worry about where my loyalties lie.”

He stood, prowling around the sunny kitchen. His cool good looks blended with the greens and golds, the blue accents a reflection of his eyes, the pine cabinets just a touch lighter than his hair. He looked as if he belonged in this room.

He was testing her, but instead of resentment, an excited rush sizzled inside.

“This place isn’t anything like I’d imagined,” he said out of the blue.

As he took in the kitchen and her in one sweep, she wished for the ability to snap her fingers and be wearing a business suit instead of her relax-and-cook gear.

In an attempt to repress more personal discussions, she said, “I can’t think why you’d wonder about it at all.”

He stalked across the room and reached out to touch a strand of her loose hair that had fallen forward over her shoulder. “Who knew you had so much to hide.”

Her quick intake of breath was her only outward response, but inside she mentally retreated. She couldn’t afford to let him in on her secrets if she wanted to remain a respectable part of his business. Knowing would change everything. It always did. The few she’d told her deepest feelings to had turned their backs on her in an instant, and then she’d learned the golden rule of silence.

Standing, she stalked back down the hall and pulled the door open, not so discreetly inviting him to leave.

He followed, the soft-soled boots he wore silent on the wood floor, his face unreadable. Pulling a card from his wallet, he scribbled on the back. “Here’s my cell phone number in case you need to contact me.”

She stared blankly at the card in his hand. “Aren’t you coming into the office on Monday?”

“No,” he said. “And neither are you.”

“Why not?”

That sexy grin was back. “Pack your bags. We’re going to Vegas.”


Six (#ulink_f81297cb-f63a-5b8b-9512-a94628082046)

Sloan arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare. He eased through security, then settled in to wait. Ziara seemed the type to arrive early, but after last night he realized he didn’t know a thing about her. Not the real Ziara. Underneath that cool, businesslike exterior lurked a woman he suspected burned as hot as her paella. That intrigued him. What intrigued him more was the why.

Why was she so different at work? This wasn’t a case of the same woman just acting on a more professional level. No, this was two totally different women.

The rich, resonant colors in the living room—burgundy, flaming oranges and yellows, deep purple accented with gold—seemed such a natural setting for her dark beauty. Why would she dress down in drab grays, browns and navies?

That hair, soft around her face, a silky waterfall draping her chest and shoulders, made him want to spread it across a pillow or, better yet, across his chest. Of course, if she was hoping to disguise her thick, satin glory, she’d failed. Pulling it up to the crown of her head as she did at work only emphasized the exotic slant of her eyes and the exquisite lines of her cheekbones.

Did she get her spicy, riveting beauty from her mother? In all the simple elegance of her home, Sloan hadn’t seen one personal photograph on display—not one of Ziara or any family, which struck him as odd.

He glanced over to see her standing in line for security. Looking at his watch, he realized she’d waited until the last moment to arrive. He smiled. Now that he knew what was inside, he wouldn’t let her revert back to “all business.”

A familiar ache built throughout his body as he watched her progress across the waiting area. The whoosh of adrenaline was similar to the rush of creativity, only a thousand times stronger. He no longer just wanted this woman—he had to have her. Which was a problem, because he was technically her boss. Temporarily. Although, if she was also his lover, then he’d know exactly where her loyalties lay. He could live with that...couldn’t he?

“Good morning, Sloan,” she said, settling into a seat across the aisle from him.

He frowned as she pulled out her mobile phone and searched for a number. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore someone to talk on the phone?”

“Not when it’s business.”

“What’s business?”

She motioned between the two of them. “This trip.” Waving the phone for a minute, she continued, “And this call.”

Oh, no she didn’t. “What kind of business call could you possibly be making on a Saturday morning?”

“I’m calling Vivian. It was too late to call her last night and I should let her know where we’ll be. You didn’t give me nearly enough time pack and get ready and call her this morning.”

And I’m not about to give you a chance now, either. He eyed her stiff shoulders and the haughty tilt to her chin as she studied the screen. She wore her defiance like a uniform—one he wanted to remove inch by inch. “Don’t, Ziara.”

“Why not?”

“Seriously? What good is it going to do?”

“It just might preserve my job when all this is over,” she said, those chocolate eyes finally meeting his head-on. “Or did you forget that someone else has a stake in this besides you?”

Ouch. He knew it, even when he wished he didn’t. Not everyone needs a high salary and trust fund to be successful. She needed her job. If everything didn’t work out, he’d help her find a new one.

Standing, he loomed over her, hearing the call to board blast from the speakers around them. “Still, I’m in charge on this trip. Remember?”

With a quick snatch, he grabbed her phone and stored it deep in the pocket of his khakis. Still within reach...barely.

“Give that back,” she demanded, her voice shaking.

“No. But you are welcome to come get it, if you want.”

The anger that exploded over her face didn’t hide the hint of interest that surfaced. Enjoying a touch of satisfaction, he grabbed his carry-on and strolled across the waiting area to board the flight. The whole time he could feel her glare directly between his shoulder blades.

This would be a fun flight.

On the plane, she lowered into the seat next to him with exquisite care, her tense jaw signaling extreme displeasure. He really shouldn’t be enjoying this so much.

“Give back my phone.”

“No,” he said, giving a little jiggle of his pocket. “Look at it this way—at least you’ll have an excuse when she asks why you didn’t call.”

If he had to guess, he’d say he was seeing his assistant go supernova. Not a sound was made, but the air almost shook around her before she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. As they started to taxi, she took out a paperback and began to read. Clearly all avoidance tactics were in full effect now, probably for his own safety. He grinned. Biding his time was a talent he’d long ago acquired.

He allowed her to avoid him until they’d reached cruising altitude. Then his nimble fingers plucked the book from hers before she knew what was coming.

“Hey,” she protested. “Are you planning to make stealing a habit?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t you learned yet it’s rude to ignore the person you’re traveling with?”

She angled herself toward the window, leaving him with a devastating view of her elegant nose and full lips, not to mention thick lashes that added to the mystery of her eyes. “I didn’t want you to feel you had to entertain me.”

He handed back the book, murmuring, “I’ll just bet you did.”

She shot him a sharp look but tucked the book into her purse for safekeeping. Settling back in her seat, she folded her hands in her lap like the prim woman he suspected she wasn’t. If she only knew what that contradiction did to him. Actually, it was probably a good thing she didn’t. Ten thousand feet up in an airplane wasn’t the ideal place for arousal.

“Aren’t you curious about the designer we’re going to see?”

She tilted her head toward him, the sun through the window highlighting the curve of her jaw and the smooth caramel skin of her neck. He bet she’d taste just as sweet.

“Okay,” she said, drawing out the word. “I’ll bite. Who is it?”

Sloan accepted a drink from the flight attendant. Passing Ziara one of the small glasses, he deliberately brushed his fingers along hers. Her quick retreat confirmed his suspicions. She wasn’t as immune to him as she’d like. If he played his cards right on this trip, Ziara’s loyalties to him would far outweigh any hold Vivian had on her.

“Patrick was my college roommate. He was a fashion design major while I stuck it out on the business track.” He paused a moment at her considering look. “I immediately thought of him when I decided to do this project, but he turned me down.”

“Then why are we on a plane to Las Vegas?”

“I’m going to change his mind.”

* * *

Great. She wasn’t on a flight to Las Vegas to meet their new designer but to court one. A reluctant one.

She shouldn’t be surprised that Sloan wouldn’t take no for an answer. Keeping that in mind in her own dealings with him would be smart. After all, hadn’t he just shown her in graphic detail how opposed he was to a little phone call? If he thought she was going to go diving into his pants for her phone—or tell Vivian exactly where said phone had been—he was gravely mistaken.

Maybe she could dig into his plans before he realized what she was doing and shut her out completely.

“I don’t know of any big wedding dress designers based in Vegas. Who does he work for?”

Sloan’s smirk didn’t answer any questions; it only created more. “You won’t believe it until you see it.”

She sighed in frustration. “What does that mean?”

He leaned toward her, his eyes meeting hers head-on. Her stomach jumped, but she told herself it was from turbulence.

“Ziara, we’re on our way to Las Vegas. Relax and enjoy a little pleasure with your business.”

Alarm skittered through Ziara when her mental walls didn’t go up immediately. She actually wanted to give in to the attraction tempting her, but knew doing so would cost her all she’d worked so hard for, so she pulled back.

“I’m just here to work,” she said, hoping she sounded like an old, repressive aunt. “What do you think it will take to convince this friend of yours to change his mind?”

He frowned, collapsing back in his seat. She couldn’t help but admire the ease he seemed to feel in his body. “Probably something I’m not going to want to give.”

“Why?”

“Because he knows me too well.”

She angled toward him in her small seat. “So you must have been really close and stayed in touch all this time.”

He shrugged. “We have similar interests.”

What did that mean? Ziara wanted to pull her hair in frustration. Or better yet, shake Sloan until all the answers she wanted just tumbled out. His secretive, I don’t trust you attitude was getting really old, really quick. If he couldn’t trust her, that was his problem. Though she should probably be happy she wasn’t dealing with a flirty, sexy boss, instead.

“Is there anything you’d like to do in Vegas?” Sloan asked out of the blue. “A show? Shopping?” His gaze slid over her, heating her flesh even through her sensible pantsuit. “Dance with a sexy stranger?”

From anyone else, the question would have seemed presumptuous and sleazy, but from Sloan it was, well, presumptuous and tempting. What would it be like to dance secure in his arms, to give herself up to his lead without having to worry where he’d take her? Without having to worry how he’d feel about her in the morning?

She’d never chance it. This time she leaned forward, meeting him head-on so there would be no mistakes. This tactic had worked time and again in the past. Attitude was everything, though the lock on her bedroom door had come in handy too.

She might be physically tempted like never before, but it wouldn’t show. She wouldn’t allow it.

“Let’s get this straight,” she said in a calm, nonthreatening sort of way. “I have no interest outside of helping you find your designer and launch the fall line. I’m here to do my job. Period.”

Instead of backtracking or scrambling for excuses like all the men before him under her no-nonsense glare, Sloan simply watched her lips as she formed the words, his gaze tracing every curve. The urge to moisten them with a slip of her tongue grew strong.

A satisfied expression crossed his face, as if he’d stumbled upon a secret she hid deep inside. “We’ll see,” he said simply, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, leaving her to stew in her amazement at his audacity.

We’ll see. We’ll see? He’d see nothing more than her hand making contact with his face if he tried to pull anything on her.

She knew far too much about the ways of men and the lengths they’d go to have a woman. She’d seen every trick before; nothing impressed her now. They all ended up looking at you like trash once you gave in. She’d vowed a long time ago that she’d never endure that. Respect meant everything to her. If she couldn’t have it romantically, she’d earn it through hard work and initiative in her career.

She never let herself down. That was the only thing she could count on.


Seven (#ulink_6ba750e4-34fd-559a-b771-e1ae1ae0267b)

Ziara kept reminding herself of that until the plane touched down late that afternoon. The Nevada heat drained her. Just walking from the airport to the taxi sparked a thirst that for once had nothing to do with Sloan.

They checked into the hotel with relative ease. The elegant suite, thankfully complete with two bedrooms with locking doors, offered an enticing view from Ziara’s balcony. Despite her resolve to focus on work, Ziara couldn’t deny the little tendrils of excitement spreading through her veins. Vegas was an animal all its own and it tempted her curiosity almost as much as Sloan and his mystery designer.

As the sunset crept over the horizon and lights sparked on, she didn’t care about the reputation of Sin City; she just wanted to indulge in a little color and stimulation.

She tried to dig some information out of Sloan during dinner in their sitting area. Knowing his plans would grant her more control and distract her from Sloan’s good looks. He’d changed into a lightweight tan suit that brought out the blond highlights in his thick hair. The blue dress shirt, with the top buttons undone, echoed the icy blue of his eyes. He projected an aura of sophisticated relaxation. She couldn’t help but envy that cool attitude.

Distraction, that’s what she needed. “What is the itinerary while we’re here?”

Sloan didn’t even look up from his filet mignon. “I’m not sure.”

She stifled a sigh. “Do we have an appointment to meet with your friend?”

“I’m afraid not.” He paused to chew a bite of crunchy fried potatoes.

How did he eat like that and still maintain those lean muscles without an ounce of extra flesh?

“This trip was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

Really? She could feel her frustration tightening the muscles along her neck. Hadn’t he planned any part of this little jaunt? Planning was her modus operandi. Besides, if the designer refused to meet with Sloan, this entire trip would be a complete waste of time.

“So is there at least a plan of attack?”

Realizing her frustration was beginning to ooze through the cracks in her calm facade, she cringed. Maybe she should just concentrate on the juicy chicken Alfredo on her plate. Then she quit caring altogether as she noticed the shake in Sloan’s shoulders.

Tilting her head, she caught a glimpse of his laughing mouth. She barely restrained the urge to kick his shin with her pointy dress pumps. Taking a deep breath, instead, she applied herself to her food in outward silence, but inside her mind was calling him every name in the book. And she knew quite a few more than people imagined.

Sloan must have decided he’d tested her type A personality quite enough, because he broke the silence. “I bought tickets for a show here tonight. Since we won’t be able to catch up with Patrick until later, we might as well enjoy ourselves.”

He studied her as if expecting a protest, but she decided to ease off the hall monitor bit for a little while. Heck, everyone needed a day off. Including her. If he wanted to take her out—strictly as her boss—then who was she to complain?

After finishing their meal, Sloan cleared everything to the room service cart and rolled it outside the door. Ziara changed into the only nonbusiness outfit she’d brought. The plain summer skirt and lack of a suit jacket evoked a sense of freedom from her responsibilities. Paired with a light summer sweater, she was ready to be entertained. The assessing look in Sloan’s eyes had her reluctantly standing a bit straighter.

Exiting the elevators, they crossed through the hotel lobby toward the theater. Passing the opening to the casino, various restaurants and shops, Ziara caught the excitement of tourists and let herself slowly slip into the mood, just a little.

A burgundy-uniformed usher led them to seats close to the front, slightly left of the center aisle. Sloan must have pulled strings to get such good seats at the last minute. As the lights lowered and the stage came alive, Ziara’s breath caught in her throat. She felt close enough to be part of the action, yet isolated in the dark, alone, with only the warmth of Sloan’s arm next to hers anchoring her.

The show was a compilation of variety acts. As Sloan’s laughter rumbled in his chest at the comedian, Ziara let herself join in. She held her breath, awed over the awesome acrobatics and stunts in various sketches.

At one point Sloan stretched out his long legs, the brush of material against the bare skin of her calf setting off goose bumps. His gaze branded her like a heat-seeking missile, taking in her reactions to the various acts onstage, reminding her to temper her laughter or excitement.

She thoroughly enjoyed the evening until the next-to-last act. As a scantily clad woman gracefully crossed the stage and burst into song, Ziara cringed in her seat.

She knew the song well—it had been one of her mother’s favorites. The scene was from a musical about a prostitute who’d found Mr. Right and hoped he’d look past her profession to the woman within. As fellow “call girls” made their way onto the stage to join in the chorus, Ziara shifted in her seat.

Like a neon sign right before her face, the scene reminded her of all she had to lose if she gave in to her attraction to Sloan. Her past and future colliding in one tempting, disastrous physical attraction. Each word of the song pounded at her temples, reawakening her anger and resolution.

She wasn’t her mother and never would be. But she knew from experience that people, especially men, treated her differently when they found out about her childhood. Their attitudes changed. Their words changed. Above all, their eyes changed.

Vivian would definitely change if Ziara’s past found the light of day.

Abruptly Sloan stood, grasping her hand to pull her to her feet, then guide her up the aisle to the muted lighting of the foyer. As he paused outside the auditorium doors, she turned to him, acutely conscious of his hand still wrapped around hers. She blinked, her vision adjusting to the faint light, bright after the darkness of the theater.

“What is it?” she asked, withdrawing slightly as he studied her with uncomfortable intensity. That gaze didn’t miss much, and she felt as vulnerable as an open book right now.

“You seemed to have lost interest, so I thought it was time to go,” Sloan said, a question in his voice.

She shifted, firmly drawing her hand from his grasp. “What makes you say that?”

Stupid! Her defensiveness would surely make him even more curious. Too bad she didn’t have a real zipper in her mouth like she’d pretended to as a child, then she could zip her lips shut so nothing incriminating could leak out.

He stepped closer, as if to regain any ground lost by letting go of her hand. She checked the urge to retreat. “You kept wiggling. You seemed uncomfortable and weren’t watching the stage despite the excellent performances.”

He reached out and pushed an errant strand of hair back behind her ear. Her flesh tingled at the contact, speeding up her heartbeat.

“Was it the performance or the content?”

Now her heart pounded in her chest, drowning out any sound around her. She made the mistake of meeting his gaze; those cool, steady eyes coaxing her to spill her secrets. But if he knew, knew what her mother had been, those eyes would change. They would glitter, hard as ice, as he condemned her just like her classmates and the townspeople of good ol’ Macon, Georgia. Only this time, the life she’d built would be at stake, not just her heart.

“We’ve got somewhere to be,” he said, turning away without waiting for an answer. Had he drawn his own conclusions?

As she followed him down several hallways, she pulled herself back into professional mode, sharp and on alert around Sloan’s prying eyes.

Her first inkling that all was not as she suspected came when Sloan led her through a nondescript door that opened into a back corridor near the theater. After several minutes of walking, they came to a door marked Backstage with a doorman keeping a close eye on things. Sloan pulled something from his jacket pocket and the man waved him in.

Going through that door was like entering another dimension. Whereas earlier Ziara had been dazzled by the lights, sounds and effortless flow of the production, now she was amazed that such beauty came from such chaos.

Performers stood in groups chatting or rushing to and from who knows where. Stagehands attended to curtains, props and other mysterious tasks, sidestepping anyone or anything in their way. But it was nearly silent chaos, for the tone of the noise remained low and soft, ever aware of the audience and performance not too far away.

Sloan led her deeper into the backstage area, through rooms containing waiting performers. Here the noise level rose, protected from the stage by distance. Finally they came to a long, narrow room lined with dressing tables. Sloan didn’t even blink at the number of women—very toned, well-built women—in various stages of undress, though several certainly noticed him.

He made a beeline to the far end of the room with Ziara cautiously following, awkward under the eyes tracking their progress. Finally Sloan stopped, moving slightly to one side so that Ziara came up even with him. Before them stood one of the performers, a showgirl decked out in a wisp of spandex and sequins. Ziara’s gaze trailed down the outfit to catch sight of a man crouched behind the girl, one hand inside the bottom of her outfit and a needle and thread in the other. His spiky blond hair was just level with her rear end, as he leaned close to repair a seam.

“Ziara,” Sloan said, “I’d like you to meet Patrick Vinalay, my roommate from college.”

* * *

Ziara’s heart stopped at the shock, then resumed beating again triple time.

This would definitely not go over well. Vivian would throw a true hissy fit if Sloan hired this man to design her wedding dresses. Ziara managed a sickly smile as Sloan introduced her to Patrick’s assistant, who was standing nearby.

“Welcome to the drudgery behind the glamour,” Patrick said, waving a hand around them at the glittering chaos.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she murmured, at a loss for anything else to say. Fortunately he turned to Sloan, relieving her of the need for small talk. Her brain couldn’t form a coherent sentence; she was still shell-shocked by the bomb Sloan had dropped on her.

What had he been thinking, to offer a man with this background first chance to modernize their line? Patrick was probably great at what he did, but that was the problem. What bride wanted to look like a Vegas showgirl on her wedding day? Eternity Designs was known for its elegance, subtle beauty...not tacky sequins.

Patrick stood, dropping the needle and thread on a table behind him. “So what brings you to Vegas, Sloan? I guess if you brought your assistant, you aren’t here for a little wink-wink.” Patrick accompanied the words with the matching motion. Then his eyes widened. “Or are you?”

The sound of distress—all Ziara could manage—had both men turning toward her. Patrick quickly backtracked. “I’m just kidding! A little off-color college humor between buddies. I’ll try to remember my audience in the future.”

But the serious consideration she caught lurking in Sloan’s gaze sent heat rushing to her face. And the knowledge that some physical recreation hadn’t been far from her mind from the moment she’d laid eyes on Sloan Creighton.

Moving closer, he cupped a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “I’m actually here on business.”

A knowing, exasperated look crossed Patrick’s face. “This wouldn’t be about the design position, would it?”

“Of course. Why else would I take time out of my busy schedule to come to Sin City?”

“Oh, how about the glamour? The excitement?”

“Do I look like I have time for all that?” Sloan asked without a change of expression.

Patrick prodded some more. “Sexy women and high-stakes gambling?”

As a waiting showgirl called to Patrick, Sloan laughed. “I don’t need all that. I just need a designer.”

Shaking his head, Patrick gestured toward the girl in front of him. “Look, I’ve got to get this done before she has to be onstage for the final number. We’ll talk after the curtain falls. Now get out of here,” he said with a stern look around the dressing room. “You’re distracting the girls.”

Patrick’s assistant peeked around his boss’s shoulder. “And the boys,” he said, his tone flirty.

Ziara tensed, unsure how Sloan would feel about this turn of events, but he simply threw a look at Patrick.

“Don’t bother,” Patrick said. “He’s not interested, much to the disappointment of many of my friends throughout the years.”

He favored Ziara with another cheeky wink, then crouched behind the woman once more. Ziara pulled Sloan by his arm into a darkened, abandoned corner. “Have you totally lost your mind?” she asked, her tone surprisingly calm and steady, though she was shaking on the inside. Her controlled voice and out-of-control words prompted a laugh from Sloan.

Knowing by now that honesty was the best way to reach him, she continued, “Do you have a death wish? Because Vivian will certainly kill you if you try to bring a costume designer in to work on our wedding dress line.”

Sloan’s eyes narrowed, his back stiffening in a way that made her swallow, hard. “Our? If I don’t step up now, before Bridal Boutique sees the fall designs, there won’t be a business left to save. This isn’t a game to me, Ziara.”

He loomed closer, his broad shoulders inducing a feeling of claustrophobia in the dusty space, leaving her vulnerable to his size. “Since it isn’t Vivian’s reputation on the line, I don’t give a damn what she thinks.”

“I understand your urgency, just not your secrecy. This wild idea is exactly why you need someone to provide balance,” Ziara said.

“For the record, I’m keeping it quiet because I don’t want her shooting down a plan that has nothing to do with her. Understand?”

Ziara drew in a deep breath, choking a little on the dry, dusty air. She knew exactly what Sloan meant. Vivian would do everything in her power to stop this, even if it lost them the Bridal Boutique account. Reputation was everything to her, as Ziara well knew.

“I don’t agree with this choice.” Ziara waved a hand in Patrick’s general direction. “I understand why you are trying so hard to fix this problem. But why him?”

“Because he knows what he’s doing,” Sloan said.

“That’s right,” Patrick said from over Sloan’s right shoulder, making Ziara jump. “I do know what I’m doing. Besides a degree in fashion design, I know my way around a booty, as you can see.” He quirked a grin. “That should come in handy designing lingerie.”

Ziara’s chest tightened, cutting off her breath for a moment. Sloan’s body remained close enough that she could feel the half laugh, half groan he choked back, but when she looked up, his face was still.

Her heart knew this wasn’t a joke. Vivian had sensed all along that Sloan was holding something back, that he might try something crazy. She’d had good reason to be concerned, because this was big. A lingerie line, no matter how tastefully done, would shatter Eternity’s conservative reputation forever.

“You’re adding a lingerie line,” she said with a soft undertone of conviction. “No wonder you’ve been... You certainly did have something to hide.”

Sloan’s chin jutted forward, his aggressive stance for once matching his personality. “Are you going to run to Vivian and tattle like a good little girl?”

“Vivian. Good God!” Patrick said with an exaggerated shiver. “If she’s involved, that’s just one more reason to turn you down. That woman could intimidate the Pope.”

Sloan ignored him, his gaze locked with Ziara’s. He reached out to once more trace her jawline, his fingers gently abrasive against her sensitive skin.

“Which will it be, Ziara? Friend or foe?”


Eight (#ulink_26df371f-0f58-553b-b3b0-07b571436d15)

Sloan watched as Ziara struggled not to fidget during brunch the next morning. He knew exactly what the problem was, but putting her out of her misery by laying out a plan for the day wouldn’t be nearly as fun as his current torture tactics.

She bided her time through coffee, waffles, eggs, mimosas and filet mignon, until she looked like the words would burst through her locked lips at the slightest provocation. He waited just a minute more, but she beat him to it.

“Are we seeing Patrick today?”

“I’m not entirely sure of his plans. We’ll have to play it by ear.” He could see uncertainty roll over her like a bumpy log. Any minute now steam would come billowing out of her ears. How could it be more fun to torture this woman than it was to sleep with other women? How had he even reached the point where he would ask himself that question?

“So are you excited about the lingerie line?” Sloan asked, a grin finally breaking free.

“Look,” she said, that disapproving librarian look making a reappearance. “This is not some kind of game like you seem to think it is. Start talking, or I’ll be on the phone to Vivian in two minutes.”

He felt his mouth drop open, unable to believe she would adopt his own overbearing approach. Yet aroused by it, just the same.

“I want to understand, Sloan. I really do. But lingerie? Please explain this to me.”

He drew in a deep breath before starting. “It’s all about marketability—” His hand shot up to stop her from interrupting. “Let me explain.” He wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin, then tossed it onto his plate.

“Vivian is focused on making the least amount of change that she can to get by.” Standing, he worked off his restless energy by pacing to the glass balcony doors. “Hell if I know why. But that’s not how to run a profitable business that will remain stable for the foreseeable future.”

He saw logical understanding in her eyes but not the spark of passion he hoped for. He found himself wanting her to understand, needing her to understand. “Modern designs are great. Any willing designer can make those changes.” His pacing picked up speed. “But I want a whole new approach—something different, a big splash to make us stand out from the crowd.”

Halting, he found himself across the room from her. She sat at the table, her hands folded loosely on the smooth black top. His mind filled with an image of her dressed in lace and pearls for her wedding day, the epitome of elegance.

He mused aloud. “Most women shopping for their weddings already associate Eternity Designs’s brand with their big day. Why not expand their thinking to their wedding night, too?”

She shifted. Fear battled with a growing interest in her eyes.

Suddenly he stepped forward, approaching her at a slow stalk. Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. He circled around, pausing behind her. The sweet scent of vanilla swirled in the air. Her personal scent. His gaze branded her at the vulnerable base of her neck.

“Think about it, Ziara—” Just like he was. “There you are, preparing to put on the dress of your dreams. What do you wear underneath it?”

Leaning forward, he caged her in with an arm on each side. The glimpse of her face lured him to push her further. “Do you want to squeeze into a too-tight piece of Lycra? Itchy lace? Ugly beige?”

Her brows drew together over her now-closed eyes. Following his body’s instincts, he lowered his voice, hoping to evoke the images in her mind.

“Or would you rather stand before the mirror in something just as sexy and beautiful as your dress, confident that your husband-to-be will be just as happy when your dress comes off as when he sees you walking down that aisle?”

He shifted closer, his own mind exploding with visions of her in flaming red satin, dark purple silk and then nothing at all. He barely covered a groan.

“Think about a silky smooth body shaper trimmed in soft lace, the same cream color as the dress. No ugly stitching and oxygen-stealing constriction. A strapless bra the perfect shape for your dress’s neckline, with smooth, shaped cups and peekaboo netting.”

A grimace twisted her lips.

“What was that?” he whispered, speaking very close to her right ear. Shivers raced across her skin.

“Nothing,” she said, but her voice choked on its way out.

“Ah, methinks the lady has a small problem with sensual...”

Her breath paused just as he did.

“...clothes.”

With a whoosh, she started to breathe again. Dangerous territory, his mind whispered. She wasn’t just resisting because of Vivian—she shied away because something was making her uneasy. Why was a woman whose home was filled with color and spice afraid of the same when she was in his presence?

“You know what?” he asked, backing away as a plan took shape in his brain.

He circled around to stand beside her. Though what came next would probably be the last thing on her agenda, he refused to ask. Only demand. He wanted to know why. “We’ll perform a little experiment.”

“Experiment?” Her high-pitched squeak sent a hot flush through him.

“Yep, time for a field trip.” He grabbed her hand, urging her to her feet when she would have resisted. “Let’s go.”

Oh, this situation had just escalated from bad idea to worse.

The elevator offered her no protection from his probing gaze. She shifted from foot to foot, as if she was a naughty schoolgirl on her way to the principal’s office.

He took advantage of their isolation to push her a little further. “Why are you so judgmental of the lingerie idea? Is it the notion of change or the lingerie itself?”

She kept her gaze resolutely fixed on the numbers marking their downward journey. “I’m simply worried about my job,” she said. “Vivian would not appreciate having Eternity Designs associated with...that...”

“Ah, so it’s the lingerie itself.”

“What?” she asked with a gasp, only to look at him and catch his satisfied grin. “I did not say that.”

The grin widened. “You didn’t have to.”

He didn’t speak again, but instead let the silence build until she rushed to fill it. “I think it’s just, you know.” Her hand gestured toward her body in an awkward jerk.

“I don’t know. What?” He drew the word out.

“It just seems dirty.”

“Seen a lot of it, have you?”

Ziara gave a simple shrug of her shoulders, but the red that rushed up her chest and into her cheeks told a whole different story. And had him licking his lips.

“Obviously not,” he said as the elevator doors slid open on the ground floor. “It’s time for your education.”

* * *

Ziara struggled not to choke on her hot embarrassment as she stood beside Sloan. Not even her Indian heritage could hide this blush.

Around my mom’s house, I saw it all the time. But she wasn’t about to detail her mother’s favorite business wear. That woman had never made a secret of what she did for a living—at home or away from it.

Ziara followed Sloan at a trot as he strode through the bustling indoor avenues that traversed the ground floor of their hotel. At first she suspected they were heading for the casino floor with its scantily clad waitresses or even another show. Instead, they silently traveled quite a distance to an indoor promenade fashioned as a replica of a high-end Parisian shopping district lined with quaint, expensive little shops.

Now they stood facing one and she was deathly afraid of what he would demand next.

A lingerie store.

If he expected her to tour a place like that with him at her side, the heat might rise to explosive temperatures. Tremors radiated from her thighs to her calves. It could have been the fast pace of the walk, but she suspected it was dread of what loomed on her horizon.

Sloan made no immediate demands. Instead, he planted his feet, crossed his arms over his chest and studied the delicate ironwork framing the front windows. “What do you see, Ziara?”

The stuff of my nightmares. She settled for, “A store.”

The sound grumbling low in his throat could have been disapproval...or a threat. “Look closer. Describe it to me.”

Taking a deep breath, she brought her focus to the windows.

The wince was involuntary, a force of habit as she glimpsed the barely there bra-and-panty sets, the sheer teddies, the lace-only gowns. So she turned her attention to the framework—aged wrought iron in fancy curlicues decorating the windows as if they were paintings—

“Out loud,” Sloan said, breaking into her thoughts. His voice remained soft, but there was no mistaking the steel undertone. “Describe it to me, Ziara.”

Swallowing anger at his high-handedness, she said, “The windows remind me of pictures, feminine and delicate. The pink-and-brown decor is also feminine, like candy and chocolate, but classy, like a sophisticated chocolatier.”

“Very good. Go on.”

She let her eyes slip to the lingerie, then quickly pulled back. “I don’t know. It’s underwear.” Or outerwear, depending on the woman.

Silence engulfed them in the midst of the eddying crowd. As the seconds ticked by, Ziara’s internal tension wound tighter and tighter. Whatever this test was, she was obviously failing.

“Ziara, I want you to go inside.”

Yikes.

“Go inside and see for yourself. And I mean really look. Lingerie does not have to be slutty.”

She scoffed. “Tell that to—” Her teeth clamped shut.

“To who?” he asked, his voice barely loud enough to be heard above the noise from the crowds.

The shake of her head was sharp, a reflection of the anger building inside of her. She had no idea where it came from or why it filled her so quickly. But it had to stop. She had to stop. The cracks would get too wide and then she’d never be able to repair them.

“I can’t do this, Sloan.” Turning on her heel, she was stopped by two strong hands with the softest of holds on her upper arms.

“Wait, Ziara,” he said, his voice once more soft, speaking into her ear just as he had in the privacy of their suite. Here, it was just as intimate. “You can do this. I know you can. You simply have to trust me.”

“You don’t know,” she whispered, not even sure he could hear her.

“Whatever it is, I want you to lock it away.”

She thought she had, but not well enough.

“Lock it away and go in with fresh eyes. Use those gorgeously sensitive fingers to explore, to discover. Trust me.”

If only I could... But she couldn’t say that out loud, so she simply nodded her head. His hands slid down her arms, then defected to her waist, leaving tingles of awareness in their wake. Then he turned her to once again face the storefront. “Go in.”

She was halfway to the door when the fear took hold of her. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes met his. Without a word, he urged her forward. Without a word, she followed his command.

The fabrics were beautiful, tempting her to touch, to stroke, to explore the texture and feel. But each time she reached out, she could sense Sloan tracking her progress from display to display. His gaze blanketed her in warmth, strength. She could almost feel him surrounding her, pushing her, enticing her.

A nightgown, pale gray and silky smooth, slid over her fingertips. She could imagine it against her skin, caressing her hips, the sensitive tips of her breasts. Sloan’s gaze had her wondering if he imagined her in the silvery fabric, too.

Somehow the nightie and a matching robe found their way into her hands. A spot of the same silvery gray color caught her eye from a nearby table. Panties had always been utilitarian for her. Waistband and shape were chosen for comfort.

But with the first stroke she imagined wearing them for Sloan’s hot gaze. She couldn’t begin to see herself in a thong, but the dramatic curve of the high-cut briefs would line the edges of her backside with sheer lace. The phantom feel of his fingers tracing the edges brought a shiver along her spine, daring her to look over her shoulder through the outer windows.

She couldn’t, wouldn’t, but she scooped several colors into her hands and moved to the register before she could think any more about it. All the while, Sloan’s presence called to her from just outside the door. His tracking gaze should have induced embarrassment. Instead, every glimpse of him through those wide windows brought the warm reminder of comfort, encouragement and, yes, trust. Along with a desire to be a woman she was not.

Without him she’d have never even spared this store a glance.

Her rush out the door slowed as she noticed a corner set off from the rest of the store. A quick glance made her think, Wedding night, prompting her to pause, to wonder.

A younger woman held up a thigh-length confection of cream satin, lace and pearls. Her companion, who was old enough to be her mother and probably was, smiled, whispering something that encouraged a nod from the daughter. They walked toward the dressing rooms, leaving Ziara watching them with loneliness creeping into her heart.

And confusion.

At first she’d been convinced Sloan was out of his mind. But maybe, just maybe, he was on the right track.

Getting married was a precious vow. She knew that even though she’d never witnessed or wanted that happily ever after herself. What if Sloan could extend the traditions of Eternity Designs to the private celebrations of marriage and not just the public ones?

For an instant the desire to experience a love deep enough for that kind of commitment overwhelmed her, settling at the pit of her stomach in a tide of need. She’d been alone so long, depending only on herself, the only person she could trust. What would it be like to give in to those feelings of overwhelming attraction, to trust someone to understand your needs rather than judge you for them?

She shook her head. With unerring accuracy, she turned to the windows and met Sloan’s bright blue gaze once more. Deliberately lowering her lashes, she forced her thoughts to the lasting image of the mother’s smile. She would never experience the feminine bond of shopping for her wedding night. Even though her mother wasn’t dead, shopping for lingerie with a prostitute was a whole different experience from what she’d just witnessed. She knew. She’d lived it.


Nine (#ulink_877a4622-1b04-52cc-9b95-4217b79d0b75)

Following Sloan back into the cool air-conditioning of the hotel suite, Ziara noticed the sweat coating her neck and scalp as she took her purchases to her room. A pounding headache—whether from the building tension or lingering emotions—throbbed in her temples and down along her jaw. A few minutes alone, that’s all she needed. Time away from Sloan’s probing gaze and questioning looks.

He’d watched her closely as she returned to him on the promenade, his eyes flicking between her face and the bag in her hands. That’s when the arousal had hit her, this time piercing and sharp. Almost painful. It would be a long time before she forgot that particular sensation.

In the bathroom she pulled the pins from her hair, allowing the heavy weight to fall below her shoulders. She ran a quick brush through the mass. Sometimes just letting it down was enough to ease her tension headaches.

Walking into her bedroom, she moved to close her door so she could rest for a while, but the phone rang. Not hearing any sound in the suite outside, she crossed to the extension beside her bed, stretching her neck from side to side as she went. Taking a deep breath, she answered.

“Hello?”

“Ziara?” Vivian’s voice rang in her ear, stealing her breath for a moment. A wealth of suspicion and condemnation resided in that one word.

“Yes, Vivian?”

“Would you like to explain to me what you are doing in Sloan’s hotel room?”

For a moment, Ziara’s head swirled. Her own concerns mixed with remembered insults and insinuations from the past. She forced herself to breathe, remembering Vivian knew nothing about her past. And never would if she had anything to say about it.

“Actually,” Ziara said, grateful her voice came out calm and even, “I’m in my own room. Sloan booked us into a suite so we’d have a common area for working.”

Vivian didn’t answer immediately, as if pondering Ziara’s explanation. This time her voice was a little less tight. “Good. I’d hate to see your reputation compromised by Sloan’s charm.”

Words rushed to Ziara’s lips in her own defense, but she held them back. They would sound like token protests. Besides, hadn’t she been tempted? Like Eve by the snake.

“Thank you for your concern,” she murmured.

“Ziara, why didn’t you contact me about this trip? Why didn’t you keep me informed as I instructed?”

Because my phone was resting a little too close to your stepson’s privates for me to comfortably make a phone call.

She could have made the phone call after getting to the hotel, but by that time she’d convinced herself that Monday was soon enough to let Vivian know.

Oh, wouldn’t that go over well? She decided on a half-truth. “By the time I realized we were going, it was too late to call. I mistakenly thought I could inform you of everything when I returned.”

Maybe her growing attraction for Sloan was corroding the responsible part of her brain, but she just hadn’t been able to call without his consent. Her mind had justified the need for more information, more...something.

Now she had more of the facts, and she was starting to see Sloan’s point of view. Scary, but holding back seemed to be the right plan. For now. Besides, Vivian would faint dead away if she knew who Sloan was here to see.

“I’m truly sorry, Vivian.” She used her most placating tone, the one reserved for unhappy clients. “I had to rush to be ready for an early flight Saturday morning.”

There wasn’t any need to tell her Sloan had come to her house. Vivian would find that move totally unprofessional.

“I see. That does sound like a stunt he would pull. We all know he wants me kept in the dark as long as possible.”

Thankfully, that statement was totally true.

“Well, on a personal level, let me warn you, if I may.” Vivian’s tone didn’t sound like a gentle warning. More like a harsh command. “Be careful. You don’t want to end up like all the rest of Sloan’s assistants, now do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“He has a history of going through them like Kleenex. Oh, he says the feelings, the misconceptions are all their faults. But I know that they are drawn in by his charm, and when he’s used them, he discards them with little thought.”

Aren’t you glad that attitude didn’t run in the family? Ziara knew the thought was petty, but Vivian’s comments disturbed her on many levels. She didn’t want to believe, but then again, what if Vivian spoke the truth? Didn’t Sloan flirt and tease her? Hadn’t he just taken her to a lingerie store?

Ziara’s goal for her entire adult life had been an honorable career. She wanted an employer who respected her for who she was, what she was capable of, not a series of dirty, no-meaning encounters that would put her back in the ugliness of her childhood. Especially if she did it with her boss.

“I promise to keep that in mind.”

“Good. I’m only trying to look out for you,” Vivian said in an overly sweet tone. “As your mentor, and someone who knows Sloan very well, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I understand, Vivian.”

Even as she spoke, Ziara could feel guilt creeping in. Vivian had done so much for her. Her loyalties toward the woman who had nurtured her career and Eternity Designs were being ripped apart, piece by piece, by her growing attraction to Sloan, reinforcing the doubt Vivian planted in her mind.

“Now,” Vivian’s voice intruded, “I assume you’ve gone to Las Vegas to court a designer, though why he’d be there I have no clue. And why we need one is lost on me.”

Yet another topic fraught with minefields. “Yes, Sloan is looking into a designer here, but I don’t think anything definitive has been decided.”

“Hmm, does he look any good? What do you think of his work?”

Well, if you are into tassels and sequins... “Actually I haven’t had the chance to see any of his work yet,” she said, hiding behind another little lie. Because if Vivian knew Sloan wanted a costume designer, she’d be on the first plane headed anywhere near Las Vegas. Ziara wasn’t ready for that—yet. “I’ve only briefly met him. I think Sloan is hoping for a more formal meeting tonight.”

She could hear the tap, tap, tap of Vivian’s gold pen against her desk. That habit always indicated she was thinking hard.

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t do any good to tell him I called. Is there anything else you think I need to know?”

Ziara’s stomach tightened. Her legs went shaky. This was a big step, putting her own career on the line. But some small niggle in the pit of her stomach said Sloan might be on to something with this lingerie idea. He certainly wasn’t going to get a lot of cooperation from Robert. She had to know for sure before she could decide where her company loyalty lay.

“No. Right now there’s nothing more to tell.”

Another tension-filled pause. Did Vivian suspect she knew more than she was letting on? “Very well. Keep me informed.”

Ziara stifled a sigh and said simply, “Yes, ma’am.”

After disconnecting, Ziara sank to the bed, her wobbly knees no longer able to support her traitorous stand.

Had she just made an irrevocable decision based on her physical response to the wrong man, a man who could never be more than her boss, instead of practical career considerations? She hoped not, because if Vivian learned she’d hid something so important from her, her career with Eternity Designs would be over.

Was making the fall line a success more important than her own need for security? The answers weren’t so clear-cut anymore—no matter who ended up controlling the company. Hopefully, Vivian would never know at what point Ziara discovered the truth.

Like any dangerous pilgrimage, moving forward was the only option. She had to see where Sloan was heading with what she now knew were two new lines. Rising to her feet, she straightened her clothes, then turned toward the door, all thoughts of a nap now abolished from her mind.

Sloan stood in the doorway.

Ziara froze, absorbing his powerful presence, though he leaned casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. His face had softened into a slight smile, but his eyes tracked her every move.

The contrast threw her off once more. On the outside he appeared approachable, carefree and happy, but those intense blue eyes alerted her to the hunter within. Pushing away from the frame, he stalked toward her, the tired lines on his face becoming faintly visible. This quest was wearing on him, as well. Her fingers itched to trace the weariness with her fingertips, soothing it away like she would a wrinkle out of fabric, but she forced her hands to remain still.

Stopping so close that a deep breath would bring his chest into contact with hers, he slid his hands into her hair and covered her lips with his own.

Ziara’s widened eyes closed as the explosion of sensation from her lips connected with the feel of his hands in the tumble of her hair. He kneaded her scalp as if to massage away the tension hiding there, and she melted into his embrace. Reason and logic disappeared. He could do whatever he wanted. Just don’t stop touching me.

Never one to do things by half measures, Sloan’s tongue plunged through her parted lips, sweeping across her own, igniting a flash of longing through her body. Long after the last of her intelligence had leaked from her brain, he pulled back a fraction. His hands remained anchored in her hair, his minty breath fanning across her face.

Forcing her heavy lids upward, her eyes met his. “What was that for?” she asked, embarrassed by the husky whisper of her voice.

His hands tightened against her head for a moment as if to draw her forward for another kiss but, instead, he spoke. “For keeping my secrets.”

They stood immobile for long minutes, afraid to move and bring reality back into their fragile peace. Ziara had never experienced anything like their kiss. Everything before had been a simple match set to flame, but this time fireworks exploded.

She needed to back away, but she didn’t.

Slowly his hands drew the silky weight of her hair forward and over her shoulders. “Beautiful,” he whispered, though his eyes never left hers.

An urge unlike any she’d ever experienced swept through her. No previous desire, no previous need felt real compared to the intensity of this moment. With no thought, she leaned forward, eager to taste his kiss once more. He didn’t back away.

Until a knock sounded on the door.

* * *

Sloan escaped to the outer room, leaving Ziara behind. One deep breath followed another. If he could just get his head in gear and think this through, he’d make the right choice. When he opened the door, a courier brought in a simple white box, fairly long and thick in size, tied with a deep purple bow.

Sloan closed the door and turned to catch sight of Ziara standing in her bedroom doorway. She hugged herself loosely across her middle, warning him that awkwardness had set in. Good thing he had something to break the ice.

He drew in another deep breath, willing his heart to stop racing. His response to her was unbelievably strong. “You have a delivery,” he said.

“Me?”

As she walked to the table, he noted her hair swinging midway down her back. His hands itched to bury themselves in the dark, silky fullness again. He’d always suspected her hair would be extravagant when set free from the constraint of that bun thing, but the sight and feel of it surpassed his tantalizing dreams.

He watched her delicately untie the bow, her care and precision not surprising him. But her restraint had a different quality to it, something more than just her normal reserve.

He studied her movements. The contained excitement on her face, the slight parting of her lips. Did she ever receive surprises? Was there no one in her life to offer those happy moments, big or small? With an unexpected spike of jealousy, he hoped there wasn’t another man. He’d seen no evidence of anyone at her house.

Was her family the reason she’d closed herself off from the sensual parts of life? Had someone hurt her, damaged her?

She lifted the lid slowly, then pushed aside the tissue covering the contents. Her eyes widened, that sweet mouth opening in a silent O. She didn’t remove whatever was inside, simply caressed it with exploring fingertips just as he’d seen her do with the lingerie and design fabrics.

Before those luscious strokes could completely shatter his control, Sloan walked forward to peer into the box himself. At first all he could see were layers upon layers of sheer, brightly colored fabric before he realized an expensive dress lay inside.

Sloan’s suspicions were confirmed when Ziara pulled out the card tucked among the golden tissue.

“Patrick. But why?” she asked, turning to face him, though one hand remained resting amid the folds of the dress.

He opened the note. “We’re invited to a party Patrick is hosting tonight. He wants you to wear this,” he said, handing the paper over for her to read. His earlier jealousy settled like a lead brick in his stomach because Sloan himself hadn’t been the one to make her eyes light up like stars.

She gazed back into the box but still didn’t lift the dress. “I can’t believe he did that.” She looked at Sloan, a frown drawing those elegantly arched brows together. “Is this appropriate? I don’t want to give the wrong impression.”

“You worry too much. Of course it’s okay to accept a gift. I’d say it’s a sign we’re headed in the right direction.” Reaching in, he found the straps and lifted the dress, shaking it out to its full length. “Exquisite,” he murmured.

Patrick’s mind must have run along similar lines as Sloan’s. The vibrant, flaming colors would be a stunning complement to Ziara’s dark caramel skin and black hair. The soft, handkerchief layers of the skirt echoed her femininity, as did the cut pieces attached to the form-revealing bodice. His lips pressed together as he slipped into creative mode.

“I don’t think I can wear this.”

Sloan surfaced from his thoughts at the sound of Ziara’s shaky voice. “Of course you can. This dress was made for you.”

She shook her head, those soft waves of hair framing her face. “No, I can’t. I’d feel too exposed.”

Exposed? The dress did have only single straps across the shoulders, though they were thicker than spaghetti straps. The scoop of the neckline would reveal a little bit of cleavage, leaving her chest and arms bare. His mouth watered at the thought of all that delectable skin on display for his starving imagination.

He eyed the jacket she was wearing—her standard office fare. He remembered the T-shirt with its three-quarter-length sleeves that she wore in the middle of a hot Southern summer. Maybe there was more to her clothing than just an overblown sense of professionalism. If she was going to be stubborn about this—a grim smile slipped out—he had the perfect ammo for fighting back.

“Don’t be stupid. You’re wearing it.”

“No.” Her arms folded around her waist as if to anchor her clothes. Did she think he would strip her naked to force her to wear it? The tightening in his groin reminded him his thoughts were moving into dangerous territory.

He pulled back immediately, but pushing her out of her comfort zone would be good for her. The sensuous, open woman he’d glimpsed at her house needed releasing. If he benefited at the same time, all the better.

He tossed the dress toward the box, crowding forward to tower over her. “You don’t get it, do you?” He connected his gaze with hers, insuring he had her full attention. This wasn’t about business for him...his descent from lofty goals was gaining speed. But business was what she understood, so that’s the reasoning he’d use.

“I want Patrick as my designer, and I’ll do whatever I have to for him to agree. So if he sent a garbage bag with holes for the head and arms, you would be wearing that.”

Her back stiffened and those lush lips thinned. Still he drove his point home. “We’ll do whatever Patrick wants. Don’t forget who’s the boss around here.”

Her eyes narrowed to a glare, her softly pointed chin edging up a notch.

“Now,” he said, before he could give in to the temptation to kiss her pretty pout away, “go hang the dress up. We’ve got a party to get ready for.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “The party isn’t until eight tonight, and it’s just now three.”

God, her anger made her that much more beautiful and awoke an urge to channel it into a more mutually beneficial emotion.

“Trust me,” he said. “We’ll make every minute count.”


Ten (#ulink_f801073e-89b8-5de7-87f1-a1916dfb0916)

Ziara’s knees developed a tremor as she stared at herself in the mirror, making her unsteady on high-heeled gold sandals.

Sloan had instructed the hairdresser to leave her hair down, though she’d tucked one side up with a comb behind Ziara’s ear. The orange, red and purple swirls of the dress and glint of gold threads hinted at a gypsy look, overlaid with Moroccan belly dancer.

The movement of the dress was reminiscent of veils, which emphasized the impression, along with her muted Indian heritage. Her skin seemed darker, more exotic. Her eyes more mysterious and shadowed. Her bearing more regal, like a princess tucked away in a harem—sensual, yet above approach.

The tremors grew, taking on a life of their own. Reminding herself that as Sloan’s date, she didn’t have to worry about anyone harassing her, she forced herself to walk to the door. But then, Sloan couldn’t protect her from her own weaknesses, could he?

When she finally found the courage to leave her room, Sloan waited near the glass balcony doors. He turned to face her, his body a long, lean silhouette against the glittering backdrop of the city, whiskey tumbler in hand. An ache bloomed within her, a desire to meet him as an equal—strong, passionate and confident instead of closed off and broken.

He moved slowly into the light as he drank from the tumbler. His tongue slid across his lips, catching the last trace of amber alcohol. She followed the movement with her eyes, wishing she could lick the same path. He watched her, his light eyes sparking with desire as his gaze devoured the length of her body. These two days with him had attuned her to a whole level of herself she’d never known.

She stepped forward, conscious of the skirt, sheer from right above her knee down to the handkerchief points. Fear or revulsion should have set in, but neither did. Just a need to feel the heat of his mouth once again covering hers, her pulse pounding throughout the secret places of her body.

He stopped only inches away, forcing her to look up to see his face. The smooth line of his jaw, the taut muscles along his neck worked as he swallowed, making her own mouth water. But he didn’t dip his head to indulge; instead, his eyes narrowed as a sexy grin spread across his full lips.

“I knew Patrick was the right designer for the job. He certainly knows what he’s doing. This dress makes you look like magic.”

His praise prompted her to stand a little straighter, ache to move a little closer, so she pulled back.

After clearing his throat, he said, “There was something else in the box.”

“More?” She gestured to herself. “This is way too generous.”

Sloan shrugged, his strong shoulders rippling under the slippery thin material of his button-down shirt. The blue made his eyes even more electric. Reaching into the pocket of his usual khaki pants, he pulled out a glittering length of golden circles. “He’s a designer,” Sloan said. “They want the look to be complete.”

Ziara’s mouth drained of moisture. Anxiety pounded at the base of her throat, even though logic told her there wasn’t any need for nerves. Then Sloan moved to put the chain around her throat.

“No.” The force in her voice wasn’t necessary, but she couldn’t control it. Moderating a little, she continued, “No, please. I don’t really like jewelry. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Why?” he asked with a frown.

Knowing any protest would just give him an opportunity to argue, she turned away. Moving to the balcony door of the suite, she escaped into the hallway with quick steps.

The limousine took them to a modest estate a short distance from the Strip. Ziara stepped out into night air that carried the tinkling sound of a center courtyard fountain. Through the open veranda windows drifted a soft rock song. The melody sounded vaguely familiar.

Sloan slipped up next to her, then tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. The gesture was a bit old-fashioned, part possessive, part protective. Despite her usual “no touching” rule, this calmed her nerves as they made their way up the stone steps.

They hadn’t moved ten feet from the car before Patrick appeared through one of the arched doorways. The open floor plan of the house allowed glimpses of the adjoining rooms through the repeated arches.

“Ziara, you look exquisite,” Patrick said, inspecting his creation and her in it. “Of course, I knew you would.” Though his gaze lingered at her bare throat, he didn’t mention the jewelry.

She smiled. “Thank you. And thank you for sending the dress.” She fingered the skirt with her free hand, glancing down at the flaming swirl of material. “It’s so beautiful.”

Having stood silent long enough, Sloan said, “I knew you had talent, but this proves it. I’m tempted to up my offer.”

Patrick frowned. “Sloan, no business. This is a party. Don’t you remember how to have fun?” He pulled Ziara gently into his own grasp. “Let’s mingle and meet about a hundred of my closest friends.”

Ziara laughed, surprised the sound floated from her so freely. The loosening of her control was almost a physical sensation.

Then she simply let herself follow Patrick’s lead. He took them from group to group, making introductions. He didn’t mention Ziara’s status as Sloan’s assistant. Her instinct was to correct him the first time, but something stopped her at the last minute. She didn’t want to be that person right now, which was both scary and exhilarating.

Would the universe fall apart if she loosened up for just this one night?

They finally settled in with a small group of Patrick’s theater buddies, one or two of whom had also known Sloan since college. After a period of catching up, one of the men turned to her. “And what do you do, Ziara?”

Unsure how much she should reveal, she answered, “I’m an executive assistant in training at a wedding gown design firm.”

“Hey, Sloan, doesn’t your family own one of those?” one of the men asked.

“Yep.”

“Which is why I’m in training—to keep him on track,” she said, unable to resist teasing.

Everyone chuckled. Before Sloan could make a snappy reply, Patrick stepped into the gap between them. “Could I borrow my buddies here for a few minutes? There’s something I think they’d like to see.”

Ziara nodded, smiling as the men stepped away. The women around her chatted about the wedding dress industry, distracting her from a sudden sense of vulnerability. With a deep breath, she remembered she could take care of herself. She’d been doing it every day since a very early age.

After chatting for a while, she excused herself to hunt down a drink. Despite the variety of alcohol at the bar, the parched Nevada air had put Ziara in desperate need of plain old water. When the waiter gave her the bottle, she opened it gratefully. The chilly liquid soothed her dry throat.

Someone bumped into her from behind, hard. Grimacing as cold water splashed across her bodice, she tightened her grip on her drink and spun around.

“I’m sorry,” said a man in a navy suit with a loosened tie, the top three buttons of his shirt undone. His gaze wavered and he took precise care in pronouncing his words. He was obviously drunk but trying to hide it.

“No harm done,” she said, brushing at the water spots darkening her dress. She replaced the lid on her bottle for good measure. “It’s just water. It’ll dry.”

He stared at her a moment before a pseudo-charming smile tightened his loose lips. “That’s nice.”

Her tension mounted as he closed the gap between them. She told herself he wouldn’t attempt anything in a room full of people, but she’d seen enough drunks to know they were unpredictable.

“You’re really pretty,” he said, only slurring the words a little. His slight adjustment to his tie and straightening of his shoulders reinforced his attempt at being suave. It wasn’t working for her.

“Thank you.” She moved back a few steps before forcing herself to stop. Stand your ground.

“I think such beauty deserves a kiss.” As the man advanced, Ziara held up her hands to maintain distance between them. Her water bottle dropped to the floor.

“Stop right there,” she said, remembered panic adding force to her words. “I’m not interested, so you can just back away.”

He paused. “What do you mean, not interested? I bet you’re just saying that. Women who look like you are always interested.”

His assumption punctured her normally impenetrable armor. Her arms wavered long enough for him to slip through. Grabbing her, he dragged her body closer. “I’ll just have a taste of the goods for sale.”

If his earlier words were a pinprick, these were a knife to the heart. The pain that lanced through her provided the strength to slam her foot down on his toes as he leaned forward to touch his lips to hers. Then she shoved him back, straight into Patrick’s chest.

Sloan’s friend surveyed the situation with wide eyes behind his designer wire-rimmed glasses. Sliding an arm around the man’s shoulders, he said, “Come on, Michael. Let’s get you into a taxi before my friend here decides to find the nearest meat grinder.”

As Patrick led the drunk away, Sloan moved close to study her but kept his hands to himself. Her contrary body protested, aching for his touch.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his face tight.

“I’m fine,” she said, struggling to control the sudden shake in her voice. She reached down for her water bottle. “No big deal.”

He leaned forward until his eyes were level with hers. “Really? Because I don’t think that guy’s foot would agree with you.”

A glance in that direction showed Patrick and the drunk had disappeared. “I’m sorry I made a scene at Patrick’s party. I’ll certainly apologize and smooth things over when he returns.”

Sloan clasped her wrist, using it to guide her to a secluded corner. “I don’t give a damn about any scene. That guy’s lucky I didn’t coldcock him. I’m kind of jealous that you handled it without me.”

Though his mouth remained serious, his eyes smiled into hers. She was never so glad to see the crinkles along the sides.

“Well, a woman has to do what a woman has to do. This is the twenty-first century, you know.”

“Does that mean I can’t lead while we dance?” They shared a smile, then he bent close to her ear, his breath ruffling her hair. “I have the odd compulsion to throw a blanket over you. But I doubt you need me for protection.”

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 (#ulink_b72e9076-40ec-5f1b-ac6f-357903dcaf4c)

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 Sloan 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.”

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 (#ulink_31185560-bd71-52c4-9e03-d7b779259ebe)

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 the 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.”

* * *

Sloan paused for a moment after exiting the elevator, his pulse pounding as he stared at the door to his office suite down the hall. How ironic that after years of sidestepping persistently amorous employees, he now found himself on the other end, wondering how he could go back to acting like a normal boss. Especially when all he wanted was to lay Ziara across his desk and— He coughed to clear his throat. This wasn’t helping.

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.

“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 (#ulink_4ece1e05-7d08-52e4-a7bc-7add02b480eb)

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.”





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