Читать книгу Scandal In The Boardroom - Yvonne Lindsay - Страница 17

Nine

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.”