LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Sloan,” she moaned. How could this be happening? How could her worst nightmares be coming true?

      “Get. Out.”

      Hardly able to breathe, she backed slowly toward the outer door.

      Sloan turned slightly to glance at her over his shoulder. “And don’t worry. You won’t have to prostitute yourself to me ever again. I’m long gone.”

      The words hurt, but what she saw in his eyes cemented the numbness spreading through her limbs.

      She’d told herself all along, from the moment he’d seen her in the designer dress in Las Vegas, that she could do this as long as he looked at her a certain way—or any way except how men used to look at her mother. A mixture of lust, disgust and superiority. As long as that didn’t show up on Sloan’s face, she could put away all her insecurities and just be with him.

      But now his eyes, those pale, electric blue eyes, were icy and cold, free of any emotion. His blank stare sliced through her, but she felt no pain.

      She realized in that split second that as much as she wanted respectability and stability, had pushed herself to win Vivian’s regard and respect, she couldn’t care less about it in this moment. She didn’t care that she’d lost everything.

      All she cared about was Sloan.

      But he didn’t care about her. His willingness to walk away without a word, without listening to an explanation, told her everything she needed to know. That it had all been a lie.

      Tears pushed into her eyes and she lowered her lids. She would not show vulnerability here, in this room that had seen the most sensual loving in her life. Now it was just a room. Cold and distant. She’d stay strong and protect herself, just as she’d been doing since she was a teenager.

      The boxes once again caught her eye. Watching him pack up and leave, knowing he’d leave her behind without a twinge of regret, might just strip her of the stupor dulling everything—inside and out.

      Ignoring him, she turned back to her own office. Luckily she hadn’t put her purse away. The straps remained tightly clasped in one of her hands.

      She wandered down the hallway as if in a trance. Nearing the turn, she heard Patrick’s voice behind her. “Ziara, are you all right?”

      She didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t even glance his way. For once she didn’t care if it was her job to make things as easy as possible for her boss. Instinct said run, so she did—stepping into the elevator that opened before her like the doors to a haven.

      * * *

      Two days later Ziara lay motionless on her couch, staring up at the ceiling. The lights remained off, but she knew she would look a mess if anyone saw her. She’d managed to enter her bedroom only once and that had been to change out of her work clothes. She’d avoided it—and the memories of hours spent in her colorful bed with Sloan—since then.

      She hadn’t moved except to blink for two hours. Her mind whirled, reexamining the same questions over and over again. The one image that rose repeatedly was the look in Sloan’s eyes when he’d glanced over his shoulder at her.

      The blankness, so reminiscent of her life now.

      She hurt too deeply to cry, to even move. So she held still and prayed it would all go away. She’d always been a doer, the type of person to take charge in a crisis, capable of handling most anything from her teen years on.

      Now she simply endured.

      Unable to face the office, she’d called the next day and spoken with Abigail, whose gentle voice had almost been her undoing. But then Vivian had come on the line.

      “Though I’m disappointed, I completely understand how you could find yourself in this situation, Ziara,” her mentor had said, her attitude far more subdued than in previous conversations. “Take a couple of days, but then we need you back in the office. The show is only seven days away and we can’t afford for you to be absent longer than that. After the show, we’ll talk.”

      Which probably meant: I need you to get me through this event, but then you are fired. Good or bad, she’d meet her obligations for the same reason she’d started working with Sloan—because she cared enough about Eternity Designs to see it succeed.

      What she’d do after that, she didn’t know.

       Eighteen

      Sloan stared at the blueprints for his newest reconstruction of an historic office building, but his thoughts turned again and again to the sketch of an imperial-style nightgown he knew was hiding underneath.

      He should have moved on by now, but he couldn’t. The show was tomorrow and he should be there, making sure everything ran smoothly, damn it.

      His mind kept replaying Ziara’s stiff back and shattered expression before she’d walked out of his office. Had he made a huge mistake? Had he let his pride mislead him from the truth?

      She’d felt something for him. If he’d doubted it before that moment, he hadn’t since. He didn’t blame her for not saying it, for holding back. Not after seeing what she’d endured as a child.

      He couldn’t stop himself—he’d dug into Ziara’s past the minute he’d returned to his old office. She’d come from a less than reputable family. Her mother had gotten pregnant with her very young—at seventeen. The same age at which Ziara had left home.

      The father seemed to have been in the picture enough to sign the birth certificate, but records indicated he’d left Macon not long after Ziara was born. His name hinted that he was the source of Ziara’s exotic beauty—an Indian who had moved back to India five years ago after failing to make much of himself here in the U.S.

      Vera’s police record for prostitution started when Ziara was eight, with only a few arrests, but a quick conversation with an officer in Macon indicated she was well-known for her trade and generally left alone until some wife made a fuss. That same officer had told him Ziara left town as soon as she’d earned her GED, after years of being tormented by schoolmates who were well aware of her mother’s profession.

      But the information had only reinforced his decision to walk away. He didn’t know where Vera Divan had gotten her information, or why she had confronted him that day—at least, not for sure. Suspicions lurked at the back of his mind, but honestly, the problem with Ziara meant more to him now than the business. He would not make Ziara pay any more than she already had for her upbringing. His physical relationship with her had given Vera the ammunition she’d needed to interfere in her daughter’s life. What would stop her from doing it again? What if his suspicions were wrong?

      Sloan sighed, running rough hands through his hair. It sucked when you realized you were in love with someone as you walked away from them.

      Looking back, he could see that Ziara was ashamed, not just of her past, but of the things her mother did for money. So she’d run as far in the other direction as she could.

      The buzz of the doorbell pulled Sloan’s thoughts away from the scenarios swirling through his brain. Striding the length of the house, he jerked the door open. “Yes?”

      “Don’t have to be so short about it, Sloan.”

      Frowning at Patrick, whose incessant phone calls had about driven him crazy, he turned away without a word.

      “Love you, too, jackass,” his friend called out behind him. He didn’t let Sloan’s reticence stop him from coming in and making himself at home.

      “What are you doing here?”

      “Well, since you stopped answering my calls, what choice did I have?”

      “You could have just stopped calling me. Or gone home. After all, you don’t have a job here anymore.”

      “And

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