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.”