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Sloan surprised her by sliding his hands into her hair and covering her lips with his own.
Ziara’s eyes slid shut as an explosion of sensation overwhelmed her and reason and logic disappeared. He could do what he wanted with her.
Just don’t stop touching me.
Never one to do things by half measures, Sloan deepened the kiss, igniting a flash of longing through her body. Only after the last of her intelligence had leaked from her brain did he pull back a fraction. His hands remained anchored in her hair, his minty breath fanning across her face.
Forcing her heavy lids upward, she made her eyes meet 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.”
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 United States, 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.
This is Dani’s dazzling debut— we hope you love it as much as we do!
Did you know this is also available as an eBook? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
His by Design
Dani Wade
Contents
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
