LITMIR.BIZ

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a taxi before my friend here decides to find the nearest meat grinder.”

      As Patrick led the drunk away, Sloan moved close to study her but kept his hands to himself. Her contrary body protested, aching for his touch.

      “Are you okay?” he asked, his face tight.

      “I’m fine,” she said, struggling to control the sudden shake in her voice. She reached down for her water bottle. “No big deal.”

      He leaned forward until his eyes were level with hers. “Really? Because I don’t think that guy’s foot would agree with you.”

      A glance in that direction showed Patrick and the drunk had disappeared. “I’m sorry I made a scene at Patrick’s party. I’ll certainly apologize and smooth things over when he returns.”

      Sloan clasped her wrist, using it to guide her to a secluded corner. “I don’t give a damn about any scene. That guy’s lucky I didn’t coldcock him. I’m kind of jealous that you handled it without me.”

      Though his mouth remained serious, his eyes smiled into hers. She was never so glad to see the crinkles along the sides.

      “Well, a woman has to do what a woman has to do. This is the twenty-first century, you know.”

      “Does that mean I can’t lead while we dance?” They shared a smile, then he bent close to her ear, his breath ruffling her hair. “I have the odd compulsion to throw a blanket over you. But I doubt you need me for protection.”

      She shivered, afraid of her sudden yearning for connection. Her body felt as if it was attached to an electric pulse. She’d never had this reaction to the few lovers she’d previously accepted, men she’d chosen very carefully for their safe auras. The two who’d made it to the sexual stage hadn’t been worth a repeat performance.

      She had an inkling being with Sloan would be the performance of her life.

      “Let’s dance,” he said in a husky whisper.

      She stiffened, trying to pull back as he led her through the crowded rooms to the patio. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sloan. I’ve never danced before.”

      He paused. “Never?”

      She shook her head.

      “Not on a date?”

      “No.”

      “Not even at a school dance?”

      She shook her head again, not about to tell him she’d gone extra lengths to stay away from the guys around her school. Her mother’s reputation wasn’t a secret in her small hometown. Ziara had been harassed on more than one occasion by boys and girls alike—boys who expected something from her, girls who judged her for the same reason.

      Sloan’s trademark sexy grin slid into place, softening his face and sparking in those intent eyes. “Then I’ll be the first.”

      They stepped onto the back patio, an oasis in the desert. Framed by potted and hanging plants, the stone mosaic floor created texture and color. Soft lighting from outdoor torches combined with the stars overhead, giving the feel of vast open space despite the others dancing and talking around them.

      As a slow song floated on the air, Sloan chuckled. “Great. This will be an easy start.”

      With trepidation, Ziara let him pull her into his arms. Her fears—of giving in, of him seeing how she reacted and completely humiliating herself—kept her stiff. But when he settled her chest against his, their bodies in complete alignment, her muscles relaxed without her permission.

      Her body openly rejoiced in Sloan’s nearness, letting the earlier encounter fade from memory. The nervous shivers radiating from deep inside were chased away by his proximity—heat, height and a touch of humor.

      She instinctively moved in time with him. He didn’t lead her into anything fancy, but he didn’t just shuffle his feet, either. Other than holding her firm and close, he didn’t make any other move to touch her. He didn’t have to. She responded fluidly to every brush, every breath. And she didn’t have to wonder if she was the only one feeling this, because the hardness of his body made it very clear he was along for the ride.

      As one song blended into the next, Sloan pulled back enough to see her face illuminated in the soft glow of the torches. “Better now?” he asked.

      “Of course,” she said, hoping to brush aside any further references to the earlier upset.

      “Those smooth moves made it look like you have experience defending yourself.”

      He’d never know how much. Instead, she shrugged. “Self-defense course at the Y.”

      He nodded but continued to watch her. At least she thought he did. Looking down, his face hovered over her in shadow, leaving her guessing. It should have been a relief to not see that intense purpose in his eyes, but instead the mysterious darkness both drew and scared her.

      She knew just the way to redirect her thoughts.

      “I’m starting to see what you mean. You talk a good game about company direction and expanding on buyers’ demands, but...thank you for showing me.”

      His mouth opened as if he would speak, but then he brushed a soft kiss against her temple. “You’re welcome.”

      As the song shifted into something a little rowdier, Sloan guided her off the dance floor to a secluded corner of the patio. The dry air was noticeably cooler, bringing gooseflesh to the surface of her skin. But the incredible view of the moon riding low in the sky over distant mountains distracted her.

      “Ziara,” Sloan said, his voice low and intimate. “I realize Vivian doesn’t trust me—” The hand he raised to stop her words compelled her to pause. “I understand why she doesn’t. Considering our history, she shouldn’t. But I do actually know what I’m doing. Maybe the design part is new to me, but I’ve been buying companies and rebuilding them, sometimes after devastating setbacks, for more years than I care to count. I can do this.”

      His focus shifted out into the night. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the stone balustrade. “But more than that, my father meant a lot to me. She thinks she’s cornered the market on those emotions, but she hasn’t.”

      Ziara recognized the ache in his voice from that first encounter in his father’s office. “This really does mean a lot to you, doesn’t it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

      His head dipped as if in defeat, though she couldn’t imagine him being defeated by anything—even Vivian’s determined animosity.

      “My childhood was wonderful until my mother died.”

      Ziara couldn’t imagine how different her life would have been without her mother, how much better. “How old were you?”

      “Fourteen.”

      She winced. “That’s a bad age for major upheaval.”

      “Yes,” he said with a slow nod as he looked out at the desert sky. “Her death was quick, only six weeks after she was diagnosed with a brain tumor.” His pause was heavy with memories. “I had a new stepmother within a year.”

      What had his father been thinking? “It must have been hard for him to be alone.”

      “He wasn’t alone. He had me.” His deep sigh blew away any sounds of self-pity. “My father changed after he married Vivian,” he said, the words slow but gaining speed. “Life became all about his new wife—her demands, her needs, her desires. What little was left went to his company, not to a fifteen-year-old boy in need of reassurance after losing his mother to cancer.”

      The picture of isolation he painted was nearly as bad as her own teenage years, living in her mother’s house but not really living with her mother.

      “She told my father I was lazy, unmotivated. But instead of wondering why, he simply condemned me. Any protests

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