LITMIR.BIZ

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      As surprise lightened his eyes, she spoke faster. “It would save you some time. You wouldn’t have to stop working as long and could get done sooner. I don’t mind—”

      The rush of words ended when he placed his lips over hers. She leaned into the gentle kiss for a moment. He pulled back until their lips barely brushed against each other.

      “That sounds great,” he breathed.

      Her chest flooded with warmth as he pressed his mouth over hers once more, then returned to his office.

      She tried not to be overly pleased as she raced home and changed into a gypsy skirt and tunic that she belted low on her hips. Though she never went out anywhere without her hair confined in some way, tonight she let it down and brushed it, the long strokes heightening her anticipation.

      Sloan’s obsession with her hair only grew. He was constantly touching it, burying his hands in it, especially as he rode her to climax. She was anxious to see how he reacted to her wearing it down at the office, even if it was after hours.

      She stopped by a replica fifties diner near the office and ordered the deluxe burger and fries Sloan indulged in every so often, with a chicken salad sandwich for herself, before rushing back. When she walked through the office door, his eyes scanned her slowly from the tips of her strappy heels to the crown of her jet-colored hair. His gaze narrowed as it returned to her face.

      “Oh, you so don’t play fair,” he said.

      Her laughter floated around them as they spread the food on the small table in Sloan’s sitting area. They ate in silence, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city lights. His eyes frequently rested on her hair. It felt so good to be free, to enjoy the moment.

      “Why do you and Vivian fight so much?” Ziara asked, her earlier concern about the older woman still lingering in her mind. “It isn’t just the business, either. You two seem at odds about most everything.”

      Sloan took his time chewing and swallowing. Ziara thought he wouldn’t answer, though his face remained relaxed and open.

      “She married my father when I was a teenager. I’m sure that rough adjustment period set some bad patterns in how we relate to each other.”

      He took another bite, chewing slowly, distracted by his thoughts. Her eyes strayed to the working muscles of his jaw and throat.

      “My dad and I had a pretty laid-back arrangement until she came along. I don’t know if she told him to take me in hand or what, but after their marriage it was rules, rules, rules and ‘this is how we expect you to act.’”

      “At the risk of sounding clichéd, at least someone cared,” she said, forcing any self-pity from her voice.

      Besides the dead bolt she’d installed on her door, she’d stayed as far from home as possible. Often she ended up being at the public library until closing. She’d gotten a job at the local drugstore at sixteen, working her way up to assistant manager, saving every penny until she could leave town and lose herself in Atlanta. Her mother hadn’t cared about her while she was home. She probably cared even less now.

      His eyes snapped in her direction. “Do you know how Patrick and I met?”

      “You said you met in high school.”

      He nodded shortly. “And he was my roommate in college. I was assigned to that room because I listed my original major as fashion design.”

      Ziara frowned. “I didn’t realize—”

      He broke in. “Vivian hated the idea. She told my father that I’d need a business degree if I wanted to run the company one day. He decided if I didn’t change my major, he’d cut me off.”

      And he still hadn’t gotten to run the company. The urge to defend his younger self rose, but she choked it back. “You and Patrick remained friends?”

      “I know Vivian thought it was to spite her—and we got a kick out of rubbing her nose in it.” He grinned. “But Patrick and I had become close by then. He taught me a lot about the design business that my father never did.”

      Just as Ziara was learning a lot more with Sloan than Vivian had ever taught her. “And he was the first person you turned to when you needed...a designer,” she said, standing up to gather their trash.

      “And he expects nothing more of me than to be myself and work hard to create success. I respect that.”

      As he came up behind her and kissed her on the neck, she wondered if he’d added the last bit for her benefit. Was he telling her what he needed out of a relationship?

      No expectations? No commitment?

      She frowned. She wouldn’t be one of those women who turned into a clinging vine the minute a man showed any interest. As she shifted in Sloan’s arms, she vowed to do the same as Patrick. She would enjoy the part of Sloan she had for as long as she had him.

      She savored his hold until his guiding touch turned her toward him.

      “I’ve waited long enough,” he said.

      He pulled her over next to him on the leather couch. She had a quick thought that she must have truly lost perspective to be doing this in his office before she could only focus on Sloan and his hands in her hair.

      Later, much later, she woke alone on the couch. Disoriented, she sat up. Cool air caressing her skin reminded her of her nakedness. She grabbed the blanket Sloan must have covered her with and wrapped it over her shoulders.

      Glancing around, she spotted Sloan hunched over his father’s drafting table near the window, absorbed in the paper before him. He didn’t look up as she hastily dressed, noting the clock read nearly one in the morning.

      Walking to where Sloan stood, she peeked around his shoulder. To her surprise, the drawing was one of the designs for the fall show. The lingerie designs.

      The table was covered with drawings in various stages of completion. They were classically beautiful—delicate, colorful and feminine—not slutty as she’d feared from the first. The designs were delicately sexy, with an exotic flavor that drew her.

      “These are beautiful, Sloan,” she said.

      He grunted, seeming lost in thought. “What they need to be is finished.”

      She smiled. If she knew anyone who thrived under the pressure, it was Sloan. He might dislike—okay, hate—external expectations, but when it came to his expectations of himself, he didn’t just meet them. He exceeded them.

      But she was surprised by these drawings. They were his. Sloan’s. Not Patrick’s. Not Robert’s. Not Anthony’s. Sloan drew with sure strokes, bringing the design to life by catching the fluidity of the fabric, the lace detail and the fit against the body beneath. Compared to the one design sketch he’d shown her before, these were easily Picassos. And he’d kept them secret from her all this time.

      She felt blown away—a bit sad that he hadn’t told her before now—but blown away, nonetheless.

      The scratch of pencil on paper continued a moment; then he froze. With extra care his eyes lifted to meet hers.

      “Hey there,” she said, residual emotions sharpening her tone just a bit. “Remember me?”

      His jaw worked, allowing her to gauge the tension gripping him. Keeping her voice calm and free of accusation, she asked, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

      “I don’t know.”

      Um, ouch.

      Something of her reaction must have caught his eye because he started throwing out excuses. And they actually made sense. “I’ve always drawn, always wanted to learn more about design, but never got the chance once I changed my major. After Dad died and Vivian forced me out of the company, I didn’t see the point. But I’ve always wanted to try.”

      “Is Patrick some kind of front?”

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