Читать книгу Scandal In The Boardroom - Yvonne Lindsay - Страница 16

Eight

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.