Ziara crossed her arms over her chest. “This is ridiculous. Why would I give you money?”

“Because you want your next job to last longer than this one.”

She froze. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I could pay your boss a little visit. Put a little bee in his ear. After all, you certainly didn’t earn those skills on your own. And I can do the same to your next boss, and your next, and your next. I’ll follow you around like a bad penny until I get what I want.”

Even though it was something she’d feared her entire adult life, she found herself saying, “They won’t all hold me responsible for your actions.”

“No, but they can hold you responsible for yours. After all, you did sleep with your boss, didn’t you, dearie?”

And wasn’t that the pickle she’d put herself in? Vera couldn’t prove anything, but Sloan would know the truth. She had slept with him. Could she make him understand it was for love...not for money? Feeling sick, imagining what this woman would say to Sloan, she sank against the brick wall. “What do you want?” she mumbled.

“A salary of my own. You’ll pay me every month to keep my mouth shut and stay at home. A nice home, not that nasty trailer I’m living in now.”

Anger returned with the strength of a lightning bolt. “Like hell I will.” She stalked closer, now the hunter rather than the hunted. “I’m not going to pay you a dime, Vera. I’ve paid enough for being your child. I’ll just go to the police—you know blackmail is a federal crime, don’t you?” Ziara wasn’t sure whether it was or not, but her mother wouldn’t know the difference.

Vera paled, backing toward the door. “You can’t do that.”

“Oh, I can and I will. Who do you think they’ll believe, Mother? Me or you?” Securing Vera’s arm with a firm grasp, Ziara led her off the porch and around to the driveway. A beat-up Chevy Cavalier rested at the curb, looking barely capable of going twenty miles, much less the eighty-five between Macon and Atlanta.

“Just remember this.” Ziara turned Vera to look at her. Staring into those brown, sad eyes, Ziara felt her heart softening but forced steel into her voice. “I will not be manipulated. Neither will Sloan. So get back in your car and drive south. I don’t want or need a mother anymore. I never did.”

She waited until Vera pulled away before returning to the house. Once inside with the door firmly locked, she rested her head against the solid wood. She wouldn’t cry—Vera had lost that hold on her a long time ago. She wouldn’t worry—surely her mother wouldn’t risk prosecution in order to get money from her. She wouldn’t relent—Vera had made her bed a long time ago.

It would just be nice if she didn’t have to stand her ground all alone.

Then a warm heat covered her back as Sloan brushed her hair aside to rain quick kisses across the base of her neck. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he whispered against her skin. Her entire body came alive under his touch. “Did I hear you talking?” Ziara’s heart started to pound, a dragging thud, thud that physically hurt in her chest. No matter how much bravery she could manage to Vera’s face, telling Sloan the truth wasn’t what she wanted. If he never knew her dirty, rank secrets, he would never look at her with pity or indifference or judgment. Even she wasn’t that brave.

“A neighbor,” she mumbled. “Just a neighbor who dropped by. Want some coffee?”

He growled, teeth scraping her skin this time. “I want something—but the coffee can wait until later.”

Seventeen

“I think I’ll head back to the office until you finish throwing your little temper tantrum.”

Sloan winced as Ziara’s words rang throughout the design floor, then turned to watch her dramatic exit, her body moving with the grace of a runway model and the irritation of a woman putting up with a difficult man. He’d snapped yet another order at her, one time too many, and apparently she’d had enough. He knew he took on bearish qualities the closer he got to a deadline. It hadn’t bothered him before now.

But it wasn’t simply the pressure that had him up in arms.

Ziara had been distant since their night here at the office. As he turned to Patrick to discuss the finer points of an orange flame pajama set, he remembered again the pure rightness of having her sleep in his arms before tearing himself away. A sense of inevitability colored every intimate moment they spent together. He couldn’t decide if he was sinking fast or had already drowned—which only upped his grizzly bear aura of the moment.




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