him, afraid to believe, yet afraid not to. Old fears were hard to kill off. Like horror movie villains, they seemed to rise constantly from the dead.
Finally he pulled back. Standing, he picked her up, then resettled them both onto the chaise with her firmly planted on his lap. “I saw the necklace in Las Vegas,” he said, his hands already burrowing into her hair to excavate the pins confining it. “I don’t know why I bought it. I just knew it would look stunning nestled right here.” He brushed his knuckle across the hollow at the base of her throat. “Bright against your skin.”
She shifted, swallowing hard. “Then why give it to me today? We agreed to keep this out of the office.”
He laughed softly, a kind of exasperated sound that rumbled against her chest. “I honestly didn’t think about it. I thought it might be a nice gesture after all the hard work you’ve done, and, well, Vivian hasn’t been easy on you. I wanted to do something nice for you.”
He felt so good, so solid beneath her hands. Looking up, she let her eyes meet his, the bright blue mesmerizing in the near darkness. Would it hurt anyone but her if she believed him, just for a little while? She’d lost everything else during this debacle. Why should she have to give him up this soon? Surrendering with a sigh, she melted into the crook of his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “What made you think I intended it as a payoff?”
She knew she shouldn’t say it. But the words snuck out of their own volition—without her consent.
“There was an...incident when I was younger.”
“What happened?”
She shouldn’t tell, she couldn’t. No one in the intervening ten years had ever known.
As if he were listening to her thoughts, he pressed a soft kiss to her temple and murmured, “I’ll trade you. Tell me something about you, and I’ll swap it for something about me.”
The temptation, coupled with the darkening shadows in the room, coaxed the rest of the story from her.
“When I was a teenager, one of my mother’s many...boyfriends...showed up at the house one day while she wasn’t home. He said he was there to see me, to give me a present.”
She snuggled closer, seeking Sloan’s protection. “He gave me a beautiful ruby necklace. It was gorgeous, but even at that age I knew something wasn’t right about him giving it to me.” Her stomach clenched in remembered dread.
“Just then my mother came home. When she saw the necklace in my hand, she had a fit.”
The accusations had been the worst—much worse than getting slapped and having the “gift” snatched from her hand. Her mother had accused her of trying to steal her client, not listening to a word Ziara said in her own defense. “Finally, he convinced her it didn’t mean anything, but I stayed out of his way from then on. The way he watched me...”
Sloan’s body absorbed her shudder. It felt so good not to be by herself anymore. She’d been alone, entirely alone, since that day so long ago.
Despite his promises to her mother, that man had tried to come into her bedroom one night. But she’d managed to slip out the window before he’d finished picking the simple lock.
Under cover of night, she’d watched him walk around her bedroom, touching her things. The next day she’d made a trip to a local hardware store, where a nice old man had sold her everything she’d needed to install a dead bolt. Ziara relied on herself alone after that. Until the day of her seventeenth birthday, when she’d left home without a forwarding address.
Ziara looked up at Sloan. Those memories from long ago influenced her current decisions more than she’d like to admit. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”
“Just remember, not everyone thinks like Vivian does. Just look at Patrick. He’s always telling me how great you are.” He smiled, though his eyes didn’t warm in color, and carried her to bed. “It’s been a long week. Let’s get some rest.”
Gently, he stripped them both. Leaning over, he settled them against the pillows in a move that seemed natural to him. Ziara remained stiff for long moments before gradually relaxing into his hold. Never had she lain in another person’s embrace, not even the loving hold of a parent. Until Sloan. Here with him, like this, felt like home. Warm, secure, safe... The final bit of awkwardness melted away.
“Tell me something now,” she said, eager to shift the focus. “Tell me about your father.”
She’d never had one, couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to have a man in the house. Her mother’s men had just been visitors who had brought nothing but indifference at best, anger and pain at worst.
Sloan’s hands rubbed up and down her arms, lulling her into a drowsy state. “My father was always laughing, always happy, until my mother died. They were very much in love through it all.” His hand started to squeeze, massaging up and around her shoulder. “I’ll never forget, one time when she was really bad off with the cancer, he took me with him on a business trip.”
“Where did you go?”
“I don’t even remember, but I know we went to some kind of trade show. I remember following him through walls of people, listening to his voice as he talked to other men, having him introduce me like I was one of the adults, soaking it all in as he explained stuff to me.”
His heartbeat thudded evenly under her cheek. “Did you learn a lot?”
“I was thirteen years old. I still remember every word.”
As she drifted to sleep, the happy wistfulness in his voice brought on dreams of a family she’d never had.
The fast-approaching deadline for the fall show escalated the rush to complete the two lines, so the days got busy and the nights even busier.
She ran messages back and forth between Sloan and the design team and mediated a few squabbles, though the three designers had formed an uneasy truce among them. Vivian lay low as the time for the fall show approached. Ziara occasionally wondered how she felt, but no longer had an in to inquire how Vivian was doing.
She and Sloan spent most nights together, always at her place, with Sloan never staying all night. She didn’t protest. What was the point of trying to force him into something he didn’t want?
Only one night did they deviate from the pattern.
Sloan and Patrick had been holed up in a conference until about forty minutes past normal shutdown time. Ziara knew she could leave, but her greedy feminine nature urged her to wait. She could ask Sloan if he wanted her to cook dinner. If he’d like to unwind with a drink, a hot shower, a... She groaned, allowing her head to fall forward into her hands. Shameless. She was utterly shameless.
“Night, sweet cheeks.”
She jerked upright, returning Patrick’s smile as he sauntered out the door. Blushing, she turned to find Sloan leaning against the doorframe connecting their offices.
“You look tired,” he said, his gaze scanning her face. “Am I driving you too hard?”
His sensual tone added deeper meaning to his words. She shook her head, her throat too tight to speak.
He reached for her arms, rubbing his hands along them in light, comforting strokes. “Why don’t you go ahead home?” He nodded toward his open office door. “I still have some work that needs to be finished tonight.”
She knew she should do exactly that. She should go home, rest and have a good night’s sleep. Nibbling on her lower lip, she realized she didn’t want to do what she should. That wasn’t how she wanted to spend her evening. Studying the fatigue darkening Sloan’s normally vibrant eyes, she realized she wanted to take care of him.