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.
