Scandal In The Boardroom: His by Design / The CEO's Accidental Bride / Secret Baby, Public Affair

Standing, he loomed over her, hearing the call to board blast from the speakers around them. “Still, I’m in charge on this trip. Remember?”

With a quick snatch, he grabbed her phone and stored it deep in the pocket of his khakis. Still within reach...barely.

“Give that back,” she demanded, her voice shaking.

“No. But you are welcome to come get it, if you want.”

The anger that exploded over her face didn’t hide the hint of interest that surfaced. Enjoying a touch of satisfaction, he grabbed his carry-on and strolled across the waiting area to board the flight. The whole time he could feel her glare directly between his shoulder blades.

This would be a fun flight.

On the plane, she lowered into the seat next to him with exquisite care, her tense jaw signaling extreme displeasure. He really shouldn’t be enjoying this so much.

“Give back my phone.”

“No,” he said, giving a little jiggle of his pocket. “Look at it this way—at least you’ll have an excuse when she asks why you didn’t call.”

If he had to guess, he’d say he was seeing his assistant go supernova. Not a sound was made, but the air almost shook around her before she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. As they started to taxi, she took out a paperback and began to read. Clearly all avoidance tactics were in full effect now, probably for his own safety. He grinned. Biding his time was a talent he’d long ago acquired.

He allowed her to avoid him until they’d reached cruising altitude. Then his nimble fingers plucked the book from hers before she knew what was coming.

“Hey,” she protested. “Are you planning to make stealing a habit?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t you learned yet it’s rude to ignore the person you’re traveling with?”

She angled herself toward the window, leaving him with a devastating view of her elegant nose and full lips, not to mention thick lashes that added to the mystery of her eyes. “I didn’t want you to feel you had to entertain me.”

He handed back the book, murmuring, “I’ll just bet you did.”

She shot him a sharp look but tucked the book into her purse for safekeeping. Settling back in her seat, she folded her hands in her lap like the prim woman he suspected she wasn’t. If she only knew what that contradiction did to him. Actually, it was probably a good thing she didn’t. Ten thousand feet up in an airplane wasn’t the ideal place for arousal.

“Aren’t you curious about the designer we’re going to see?”

She tilted her head toward him, the sun through the window highlighting the curve of her jaw and the smooth caramel skin of her neck. He bet she’d taste just as sweet.

“Okay,” she said, drawing out the word. “I’ll bite. Who is it?”

Sloan accepted a drink from the flight attendant. Passing Ziara one of the small glasses, he deliberately brushed his fingers along hers. Her quick retreat confirmed his suspicions. She wasn’t as immune to him as she’d like. If he played his cards right on this trip, Ziara’s loyalties to him would far outweigh any hold Vivian had on her.

“Patrick was my college roommate. He was a fashion design major while I stuck it out on the business track.” He paused a moment at her considering look. “I immediately thought of him when I decided to do this project, but he turned me down.”

“Then why are we on a plane to Las Vegas?”

“I’m going to change his mind.”

* * *

Great. She wasn’t on a flight to Las Vegas to meet their new designer but to court one. A reluctant one.

She shouldn’t be surprised that Sloan wouldn’t take no for an answer. Keeping that in mind in her own dealings with him would be smart. After all, hadn’t he just shown her in graphic detail how opposed he was to a little phone call? If he thought she was going to go diving into his pants for her phone—or tell Vivian exactly where said phone had been—he was gravely mistaken.

Maybe she could dig into his plans before he realized what she was doing and shut her out completely.

“I don’t know of any big wedding dress designers based in Vegas. Who does he work for?”

Sloan’s smirk didn’t answer any questions; it only created more. “You won’t believe it until you see it.”

She sighed in frustration. “What does that mean?”

He leaned toward her, his eyes meeting hers head-on. Her stomach jumped, but she told herself it was from turbulence.

“Ziara, we’re on our way to Las Vegas. Relax and enjoy a little pleasure with your business.”

Alarm skittered through Ziara when her mental walls didn’t go up immediately. She actually wanted to give in to the attraction tempting her, but knew doing so would cost her all she’d worked so hard for, so she pulled back.

“I’m just here to work,” she said, hoping she sounded like an old, repressive aunt. “What do you think it will take to convince this friend of yours to change his mind?”

He frowned, collapsing back in his seat. She couldn’t help but admire the ease he seemed to feel in his body. “Probably something I’m not going to want to give.”

“Why?”

“Because he knows me too well.”

She angled toward him in her small seat. “So you must have been really close and stayed in touch all this time.”

He shrugged. “We have similar interests.”

What did that mean? Ziara wanted to pull her hair in frustration. Or better yet, shake Sloan until all the answers she wanted just tumbled out. His secretive, I don’t trust you attitude was getting really old, really quick. If he couldn’t trust her, that was his problem. Though she should probably be happy she wasn’t dealing with a flirty, sexy boss, instead.

“Is there anything you’d like to do in Vegas?” Sloan asked out of the blue. “A show? Shopping?” His gaze slid over her, heating her flesh even through her sensible pantsuit. “Dance with a sexy stranger?”

From anyone else, the question would have seemed presumptuous and sleazy, but from Sloan it was, well, presumptuous and tempting. What would it be like to dance secure in his arms, to give herself up to his lead without having to worry where he’d take her? Without having to worry how he’d feel about her in the morning?

She’d never chance it. This time she leaned forward, meeting him head-on so there would be no mistakes. This tactic had worked time and again in the past. Attitude was everything, though the lock on her bedroom door had come in handy too.

She might be physically tempted like never before, but it wouldn’t show. She wouldn’t allow it.

“Let’s get this straight,” she said in a calm, nonthreatening sort of way. “I have no interest outside of helping you find your designer and launch the fall line. I’m here to do my job. Period.”

Instead of backtracking or scrambling for excuses like all the men before him under her no-nonsense glare, Sloan simply watched her lips as she formed the words, his gaze tracing every curve. The urge to moisten them with a slip of her tongue grew strong.

A satisfied expression crossed his face, as if he’d stumbled upon a secret she hid deep inside. “We’ll see,” he said simply, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, leaving her to stew in her amazement at his audacity.

We’ll see. We’ll see? He’d see nothing more than her hand making contact with his face if he tried to pull anything on her.

She knew far too much about the ways of men and the lengths they’d go to have a woman. She’d seen every trick before; nothing impressed her now. They all ended up looking at you like trash once you gave in. She’d vowed a long time ago that she’d never endure that. Respect meant everything to her. If she couldn’t have it romantically, she’d earn it through hard work and initiative in her career.

She never let herself down. That was the only thing she could count on.

Seven

Ziara kept reminding herself of that until the plane touched down late that afternoon. The Nevada heat drained her. Just walking from the airport to the taxi sparked a thirst that for once had nothing to do with Sloan.

They checked into the hotel with relative ease. The elegant suite, thankfully complete with two bedrooms with locking doors, offered an enticing view from Ziara’s balcony. Despite her resolve to focus on work, Ziara couldn’t deny the little tendrils of excitement spreading through her veins. Vegas was an animal all its own and it tempted her curiosity almost as much as Sloan and his mystery designer.

As the sunset crept over the horizon and lights sparked on, she didn’t care about the reputation of Sin City; she just wanted to indulge in a little color and stimulation.

She tried to dig some information out of Sloan during dinner in their sitting area. Knowing his plans would grant her more control and distract her from Sloan’s good looks. He’d changed into a lightweight tan suit that brought out the blond highlights in his thick hair. The blue dress shirt, with the top buttons undone, echoed the icy blue of his eyes. He projected an aura of sophisticated relaxation. She couldn’t help but envy that cool attitude.

Distraction, that’s what she needed. “What is the itinerary while we’re here?”

Sloan didn’t even look up from his filet mignon. “I’m not sure.”

She stifled a sigh. “Do we have an appointment to meet with your friend?”

“I’m afraid not.” He paused to chew a bite of crunchy fried potatoes.

How did he eat like that and still maintain those lean muscles without an ounce of extra flesh?

“This trip was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

Really? She could feel her frustration tightening the muscles along her neck. Hadn’t he planned any part of this little jaunt? Planning was her modus operandi. Besides, if the designer refused to meet with Sloan, this entire trip would be a complete waste of time.

“So is there at least a plan of attack?”

Realizing her frustration was beginning to ooze through the cracks in her calm facade, she cringed. Maybe she should just concentrate on the juicy chicken Alfredo on her plate. Then she quit caring altogether as she noticed the shake in Sloan’s shoulders.

Tilting her head, she caught a glimpse of his laughing mouth. She barely restrained the urge to kick his shin with her pointy dress pumps. Taking a deep breath, instead, she applied herself to her food in outward silence, but inside her mind was calling him every name in the book. And she knew quite a few more than people imagined.

Sloan must have decided he’d tested her type A personality quite enough, because he broke the silence. “I bought tickets for a show here tonight. Since we won’t be able to catch up with Patrick until later, we might as well enjoy ourselves.”

He studied her as if expecting a protest, but she decided to ease off the hall monitor bit for a little while. Heck, everyone needed a day off. Including her. If he wanted to take her out—strictly as her boss—then who was she to complain?

After finishing their meal, Sloan cleared everything to the room service cart and rolled it outside the door. Ziara changed into the only nonbusiness outfit she’d brought. The plain summer skirt and lack of a suit jacket evoked a sense of freedom from her responsibilities. Paired with a light summer sweater, she was ready to be entertained. The assessing look in Sloan’s eyes had her reluctantly standing a bit straighter.

Exiting the elevators, they crossed through the hotel lobby toward the theater. Passing the opening to the casino, various restaurants and shops, Ziara caught the excitement of tourists and let herself slowly slip into the mood, just a little.

A burgundy-uniformed usher led them to seats close to the front, slightly left of the center aisle. Sloan must have pulled strings to get such good seats at the last minute. As the lights lowered and the stage came alive, Ziara’s breath caught in her throat. She felt close enough to be part of the action, yet isolated in the dark, alone, with only the warmth of Sloan’s arm next to hers anchoring her.

The show was a compilation of variety acts. As Sloan’s laughter rumbled in his chest at the comedian, Ziara let herself join in. She held her breath, awed over the awesome acrobatics and stunts in various sketches.

At one point Sloan stretched out his long legs, the brush of material against the bare skin of her calf setting off goose bumps. His gaze branded her like a heat-seeking missile, taking in her reactions to the various acts onstage, reminding her to temper her laughter or excitement.

She thoroughly enjoyed the evening until the next-to-last act. As a scantily clad woman gracefully crossed the stage and burst into song, Ziara cringed in her seat.

She knew the song well—it had been one of her mother’s favorites. The scene was from a musical about a prostitute who’d found Mr. Right and hoped he’d look past her profession to the woman within. As fellow “call girls” made their way onto the stage to join in the chorus, Ziara shifted in her seat.

Like a neon sign right before her face, the scene reminded her of all she had to lose if she gave in to her attraction to Sloan. Her past and future colliding in one tempting, disastrous physical attraction. Each word of the song pounded at her temples, reawakening her anger and resolution.

She wasn’t her mother and never would be. But she knew from experience that people, especially men, treated her differently when they found out about her childhood. Their attitudes changed. Their words changed. Above all, their eyes changed.

Vivian would definitely change if Ziara’s past found the light of day.

Abruptly Sloan stood, grasping her hand to pull her to her feet, then guide her up the aisle to the muted lighting of the foyer. As he paused outside the auditorium doors, she turned to him, acutely conscious of his hand still wrapped around hers. She blinked, her vision adjusting to the faint light, bright after the darkness of the theater.

“What is it?” she asked, withdrawing slightly as he studied her with uncomfortable intensity. That gaze didn’t miss much, and she felt as vulnerable as an open book right now.

“You seemed to have lost interest, so I thought it was time to go,” Sloan said, a question in his voice.

She shifted, firmly drawing her hand from his grasp. “What makes you say that?”

Stupid! Her defensiveness would surely make him even more curious. Too bad she didn’t have a real zipper in her mouth like she’d pretended to as a child, then she could zip her lips shut so nothing incriminating could leak out.

He stepped closer, as if to regain any ground lost by letting go of her hand. She checked the urge to retreat. “You kept wiggling. You seemed uncomfortable and weren’t watching the stage despite the excellent performances.”

He reached out and pushed an errant strand of hair back behind her ear. Her flesh tingled at the contact, speeding up her heartbeat.

“Was it the performance or the content?”

Now her heart pounded in her chest, drowning out any sound around her. She made the mistake of meeting his gaze; those cool, steady eyes coaxing her to spill her secrets. But if he knew, knew what her mother had been, those eyes would change. They would glitter, hard as ice, as he condemned her just like her classmates and the townspeople of good ol’ Macon, Georgia. Only this time, the life she’d built would be at stake, not just her heart.

“We’ve got somewhere to be,” he said, turning away without waiting for an answer. Had he drawn his own conclusions?

As she followed him down several hallways, she pulled herself back into professional mode, sharp and on alert around Sloan’s prying eyes.

Her first inkling that all was not as she suspected came when Sloan led her through a nondescript door that opened into a back corridor near the theater. After several minutes of walking, they came to a door marked Backstage with a doorman keeping a close eye on things. Sloan pulled something from his jacket pocket and the man waved him in.

Going through that door was like entering another dimension. Whereas earlier Ziara had been dazzled by the lights, sounds and effortless flow of the production, now she was amazed that such beauty came from such chaos.

Performers stood in groups chatting or rushing to and from who knows where. Stagehands attended to curtains, props and other mysterious tasks, sidestepping anyone or anything in their way. But it was nearly silent chaos, for the tone of the noise remained low and soft, ever aware of the audience and performance not too far away.

Sloan led her deeper into the backstage area, through rooms containing waiting performers. Here the noise level rose, protected from the stage by distance. Finally they came to a long, narrow room lined with dressing tables. Sloan didn’t even blink at the number of women—very toned, well-built women—in various stages of undress, though several certainly noticed him.

He made a beeline to the far end of the room with Ziara cautiously following, awkward under the eyes tracking their progress. Finally Sloan stopped, moving slightly to one side so that Ziara came up even with him. Before them stood one of the performers, a showgirl decked out in a wisp of spandex and sequins. Ziara’s gaze trailed down the outfit to catch sight of a man crouched behind the girl, one hand inside the bottom of her outfit and a needle and thread in the other. His spiky blond hair was just level with her rear end, as he leaned close to repair a seam.

“Ziara,” Sloan said, “I’d like you to meet Patrick Vinalay, my roommate from college.”

* * *

Ziara’s heart stopped at the shock, then resumed beating again triple time.

This would definitely not go over well. Vivian would throw a true hissy fit if Sloan hired this man to design her wedding dresses. Ziara managed a sickly smile as Sloan introduced her to Patrick’s assistant, who was standing nearby.

“Welcome to the drudgery behind the glamour,” Patrick said, waving a hand around them at the glittering chaos.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she murmured, at a loss for anything else to say. Fortunately he turned to Sloan, relieving her of the need for small talk. Her brain couldn’t form a coherent sentence; she was still shell-shocked by the bomb Sloan had dropped on her.

What had he been thinking, to offer a man with this background first chance to modernize their line? Patrick was probably great at what he did, but that was the problem. What bride wanted to look like a Vegas showgirl on her wedding day? Eternity Designs was known for its elegance, subtle beauty...not tacky sequins.

Patrick stood, dropping the needle and thread on a table behind him. “So what brings you to Vegas, Sloan? I guess if you brought your assistant, you aren’t here for a little wink-wink.” Patrick accompanied the words with the matching motion. Then his eyes widened. “Or are you?”

The sound of distress—all Ziara could manage—had both men turning toward her. Patrick quickly backtracked. “I’m just kidding! A little off-color college humor between buddies. I’ll try to remember my audience in the future.”

But the serious consideration she caught lurking in Sloan’s gaze sent heat rushing to her face. And the knowledge that some physical recreation hadn’t been far from her mind from the moment she’d laid eyes on Sloan Creighton.

Moving closer, he cupped a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “I’m actually here on business.”

A knowing, exasperated look crossed Patrick’s face. “This wouldn’t be about the design position, would it?”

“Of course. Why else would I take time out of my busy schedule to come to Sin City?”

“Oh, how about the glamour? The excitement?”

“Do I look like I have time for all that?” Sloan asked without a change of expression.

Patrick prodded some more. “Sexy women and high-stakes gambling?”

As a waiting showgirl called to Patrick, Sloan laughed. “I don’t need all that. I just need a designer.”

Shaking his head, Patrick gestured toward the girl in front of him. “Look, I’ve got to get this done before she has to be onstage for the final number. We’ll talk after the curtain falls. Now get out of here,” he said with a stern look around the dressing room. “You’re distracting the girls.”

Patrick’s assistant peeked around his boss’s shoulder. “And the boys,” he said, his tone flirty.

Ziara tensed, unsure how Sloan would feel about this turn of events, but he simply threw a look at Patrick.

“Don’t bother,” Patrick said. “He’s not interested, much to the disappointment of many of my friends throughout the years.”

He favored Ziara with another cheeky wink, then crouched behind the woman once more. Ziara pulled Sloan by his arm into a darkened, abandoned corner. “Have you totally lost your mind?” she asked, her tone surprisingly calm and steady, though she was shaking on the inside. Her controlled voice and out-of-control words prompted a laugh from Sloan.

Knowing by now that honesty was the best way to reach him, she continued, “Do you have a death wish? Because Vivian will certainly kill you if you try to bring a costume designer in to work on our wedding dress line.”

Sloan’s eyes narrowed, his back stiffening in a way that made her swallow, hard. “Our? If I don’t step up now, before Bridal Boutique sees the fall designs, there won’t be a business left to save. This isn’t a game to me, Ziara.”

He loomed closer, his broad shoulders inducing a feeling of claustrophobia in the dusty space, leaving her vulnerable to his size. “Since it isn’t Vivian’s reputation on the line, I don’t give a damn what she thinks.”

“I understand your urgency, just not your secrecy. This wild idea is exactly why you need someone to provide balance,” Ziara said.

“For the record, I’m keeping it quiet because I don’t want her shooting down a plan that has nothing to do with her. Understand?”

Ziara drew in a deep breath, choking a little on the dry, dusty air. She knew exactly what Sloan meant. Vivian would do everything in her power to stop this, even if it lost them the Bridal Boutique account. Reputation was everything to her, as Ziara well knew.

“I don’t agree with this choice.” Ziara waved a hand in Patrick’s general direction. “I understand why you are trying so hard to fix this problem. But why him?”

“Because he knows what he’s doing,” Sloan said.

“That’s right,” Patrick said from over Sloan’s right shoulder, making Ziara jump. “I do know what I’m doing. Besides a degree in fashion design, I know my way around a booty, as you can see.” He quirked a grin. “That should come in handy designing lingerie.”

Ziara’s chest tightened, cutting off her breath for a moment. Sloan’s body remained close enough that she could feel the half laugh, half groan he choked back, but when she looked up, his face was still.

Her heart knew this wasn’t a joke. Vivian had sensed all along that Sloan was holding something back, that he might try something crazy. She’d had good reason to be concerned, because this was big. A lingerie line, no matter how tastefully done, would shatter Eternity’s conservative reputation forever.

“You’re adding a lingerie line,” she said with a soft undertone of conviction. “No wonder you’ve been... You certainly did have something to hide.”

Sloan’s chin jutted forward, his aggressive stance for once matching his personality. “Are you going to run to Vivian and tattle like a good little girl?”

“Vivian. Good God!” Patrick said with an exaggerated shiver. “If she’s involved, that’s just one more reason to turn you down. That woman could intimidate the Pope.”

Sloan ignored him, his gaze locked with Ziara’s. He reached out to once more trace her jawline, his fingers gently abrasive against her sensitive skin.

“Which will it be, Ziara? Friend or foe?”

Eight

Sloan watched as Ziara struggled not to fidget during brunch the next morning. He knew exactly what the problem was, but putting her out of her misery by laying out a plan for the day wouldn’t be nearly as fun as his current torture tactics.