Yvonne Lindsay - Scandal In The Boardroom

Though he’d heard quite a few tales of childhood woe in his time, the desolation darkening Ziara’s face ignited a protective streak in the pit of his stomach. “How old were you?”

Her fingers worried the fabric now. “Officially? Seventeen. Unofficially? So long before that I can’t remember when.”

Thoughts tumbled through his mind about what could happen to a seventeen-year-old girl who looked like Ziara without anyone to protect her.

“What about your dad?” he asked.

Her fingers jerked then went still. “I wouldn’t know. I never met him.” A few minutes passed before she said, “I think I could use a drink now.”

Reaching out, he trailed his fingers down the back of her tense hand. “I don’t think you need alcohol.”

“Yes. I do.”

“Why?” Sloan asked, taking the risk of looking straight into those tempting eyes. Half-mast lids were sleepy, sultry. Sexy. Man, if she decided to drink, who knew where they’d end up?

Her desire to let go had him shaking. It must be worse than he thought for her to resort to booze. “Why?” he repeated, hoping conversation would distract him from his thoughts and rapidly escalating erection.

“Because without it I’ll never do this.” She twisted, her lips brushing his, though she stopped short of a firm kiss.

The fire that burst through him burned away his inhibitions with one clean flare. “Ziara,” he said, pulling her gaze to his. “You don’t need liquid courage to do that.”

Something perverse inside of him exulted in her making the first move, so he remained still. A quick lick of her lips sent a shiver of anticipation through him. Her lashes lowered as she pressed closer. Her lips barely met his before he took the reins back.

Burying both his hands in the soft fall of her hair, he stormed her mouth, sliding his tongue inside. Without further invitation, he explored the moist heat within before returning to caress her lips with his own. So soft, yet meeting him halfway, she beckoned and commanded his response without a word.

A flash of lights outside the windows eased Sloan from the cocoon of intimacy they shared. Though they were behind tinted windows and privacy glass, they were still in a public place.

And he wanted to do something they could be arrested for in public. Even in Las Vegas.

Resigning himself to a snail’s pace, Sloan resumed his exploration of Ziara’s mouth. He resisted the urgency surging under his skin. Their first time together shouldn’t be in the back of a limo with a driver on the other side of the glass.

But he couldn’t stop himself from exploring the boundaries a little. Drawing his hands down the side of her neck, he pulled her mouth closer, letting one hand travel to cup her breast. The soft weight overflowing his palm made him groan, but her electric response had him swearing.

Luckily at that moment they came to a stop in front of their hotel. Sloan opened the door himself and pulled Ziara out behind him. He rushed through the lobby and into the elevator with her a few steps behind. His hands trembled as he swept the key card through the lock, then pulled her into the suite with less finesse than demand.

The dim light of the suite was barely enough to silhouette Ziara’s beautiful face. The stillness in the room as the door clicked shut only accentuated the pounding of the blood in his veins. He stalked forward, using their still-clasped hands to draw her near. He was pleased to see she didn’t cower from him, from the intensity of his desire.

“Ziara, I need you.”

This time it was she who anchored her hands in his hair. “And I need you,” she choked out. “I really do.”

Her voice shook at first but quickly firmed, though she sounded surprised. Whether at the need or the admission, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t question his good fortune. Letting her pull his head down, he met her swollen lips once more, tasting the sweet burn he now associated with Ziara herself.

Allowing his hands free rein, they roamed her body, cupping those full breasts and squeezing them gently together. Her nipples hardened into peaks he could feel through the layers of fabric.

He followed the curve of her waist to the flare of her hips, finally drawing her tight against his erection.

Ziara bit lightly against his lower lip, sending Sloan’s body and mind flying apart. Grabbing the zipper hidden along her side, he jerked it down, then the dress. Ziara gasped, but he didn’t care. He just needed to touch her skin with his.

Instinct took over. His lips only left hers long enough to pull his shirt over his head. Drawing her against him, he groaned at the sensation of flesh against flesh, hotter than he could ever remember being. His head fell back, only to drop forward again to bury in her neck.

Her sweet, spicy scent drove him to taste her skin. Working his way down, he licked and nibbled the smooth column of her neck and the curve of her collarbone. He fell to his knees so he could savor the textures of her breasts and nipples.

Only then did he become aware of her panting breath, too jagged for passion. Releasing her sweet flesh, he looked up, catching the glint of moisture on her cheeks in the lights filtering through the far windows. “Ziara?”

“Please stop.”

Twelve

Ziara stayed in her room the next morning until the last possible minute. Hiding wasn’t the noblest of behaviors, but she simply couldn’t face Sloan after calling a halt to...whatever last night had been.

How would she ever explain why she’d led him on, then left him hanging like that? How could she ever look herself in the eyes again and not remember her actions? Behavior that brought memories of her mother flooding to the surface. No matter how much her mind insisted she wasn’t using Sloan, the fact that he was her boss couldn’t be ignored. She refused to participate in anything reminiscent of her mother’s life, built on sex, money and scheming for everything she could get.

Drawing in a deep breath, she smoothed her hair back into its usual bun. More aware than ever of the facade she presented in her business suit, she grabbed the handle of her rolling suitcase and opened the door. Sloan stood silent near the outer door, his own luggage not far away, remains of breakfast littering the table near the window.

Keeping her chin lifted and her eyes focused over his shoulder, she somehow crossed the room without stumbling or being sick. By the time she neared Sloan, his hand rested on the doorknob, but he made no move to leave. She could actually feel him looking at her, and her insides shivered. Part of her cowered in humiliation; the other part flared back to life with arousal.

For long moments Sloan didn’t move, keeping them locked in a silent battle. The tension ate away at her composure.

“I just have one question,” he finally said, his voice strained and husky. “Why?”

She spit out the words she’d rehearsed during the long, dragging hours of the night. “You’re my boss. It just isn’t right.”

She must have managed the right level of conviction, because he opened the door and led the way outside. Watching him stride away struck her as bittersweet.

The flight home, long and silent, was punctuated by agonizingly polite phrases like “Excuse me” and “Would you like a drink?” Her body pulled in on itself, making her wish she could shrink into oblivion. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Soon, though.

Unfortunately, Ziara was left with lots of time to think over what had occurred between them, as if she hadn’t replayed it a hundred times in the dark of night. His kiss had been seductive in more than the obvious sense. It had made her blossom with beauty, power and wantonness. Therein lay the rub. She wanted to revel in the passion Sloan evoked, whether they were sparring or kissing. But she couldn’t because it might lead to becoming the one thing she’d promised herself she never would.