Burned Deep

by Calista Fox

  I stepped around Dane and faced him. I took in his powerful, virile body and it made my heart skitter.

  When my gaze finally lifted to his devastatingly handsome visage, I still saw every inch of him in my mind’s eye.

  “You’re beautiful,” I told him.

  “Ari.”

  “Really,” I said, breathless. “So beautiful.”

  My palms splayed over his pecs as I went up on tiptoe to kiss him. His arms wound around me and he crushed me against him, holding me tight as he took over the kiss and turned it searing and sensational.

  The spray of hot water against my back couldn’t compete with the scorching feeling of his hard body against mine.

  My fingers tangled in his wet hair. I held on for dear life as he kept me energized with his perfect kiss.

  I was clearly beyond my passion threshold, by a lot. But Dane was in my house, I was in his arms, and since I really didn’t know what tomorrow would bring—whether he’d still want me or not—I took advantage of the opportunity presented.

  More than that, I just plain needed him. Desperately.

  I broke our kiss and merely whispered, “Dane.” I nuzzled his neck, kissing the crook at his shoulder.

  His hands swept over me. “Again?”

  “Yes.”

  He carefully turned me around. His hands cupped my breasts and his fingers toyed with my nipples as his mouth skated over my throat, tenderly biting.

  “I don’t want to make you too sore.”

  “I’m fine.” Then I gave a slight shake of my head. “No. Not fine. I’m burning up.”

  One of his hands slipped between my legs, his fingers sinking deep. The other arm spread over my chest, palming my breast, still teasing my nipple. He held me firmly. Stroked confidently.

  I leaned forward, flattening a hand to the wall to stabilize myself. My legs quaked, my stomach quivered. I was trapped once more in his vortex, that disconnection of my past, who I used to be, as everything about him poignantly pressed in on me so that all that registered were the moments with Dane.

  His strokes quickened along that spot inside that set me ablaze and made me ridiculously aroused. Seconds later, all the intensely erotic sensations he evoked burst wide open and I came again, calling his name.

  “God, Ari,” he said against my temple as I rode the waves of ecstasy. “You have no idea how much I want you.”

  “Can’t be more than I want you,” I insisted as my body continued to tremble.

  He held me awhile longer, until the shaking was a little more under control. Then he released me and shut off the water. He stepped out of the tub for towels and wrapped one around me before securing the other at his waist. He helped me out of the shower and I used the hair dryer while he disappeared into my room. Moments later, he strutted back into the bathroom, vibrator in hand. He dumped it in the trash.

  “You won’t be needing that again,” he said simply, smugly.

  I watched him strut out. A tickle of delight ran along my skin.

  When I lost sight of him, I spared a glance toward the wicker garbage bin. To the budget-minded, that was thirty bucks wasted. I didn’t care. It’d never provide the same purpose following this evening.

  I stripped off the towel, turned off the light, and went into the bedroom, pulling my Gretzky tee and panties on. I settled on the mattress next to Dane, who was propped against a pile of pillows. The rumpled covers were strewn haphazardly across his hips, just barely concealing what was an impressive bulge.

  “So…,” I ventured as my fingers skimmed over his abs, which bunched beneath my touch. “This has been an interesting evening.”

  He grinned. So lazy, cocky, sexy. “How many times did you come?”

  “I lost count.”

  “I didn’t.”

  Tiny microbursts exploded between my legs. Amazing.

  “I think you’ve finally exhausted me,” I confessed.

  “Then curl up with me and sleep.”

  I did as told. “You’ll still be here in the morning when I wake up?”

  He kissed the top of my head. “Don’t doubt it for a second.”

  * * *

  There was definitely something to be said for the adage be careful what you wish for.

  In the morning, while we were still snuggled under the covers and his hands were roaming my body, Dane coyly suggested we have lunch together.

  As in … a date. A real one. Not an interview that felt like a date. Not a meet-up at a party. An actual, honest-to-God date.

  Panic slithered through me. But I had a legitimate excuse to evade him.

  “That’d be great,” I said, “except that I’ll be in Phoenix. Peoria, more specifically. My dad and I have a ten o’clock tee time at Trilogy at Vistancia while there’s a break in the weather.”

  “Excellent course.” He palmed my breast and lazily swept his thumb over my hard nipple, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. I barely heard him ask, “Have you played Blackstone?”

  I all but purred under his touch but managed to say, “The private country club in Vistancia? No. My dad hasn’t, either.”

  “Would you like to?”

  My stomach fluttered—not just from Dane’s light teasing of my nipple. The devil knew all the right buttons to push.

  “It’d be a highlight,” I dared to admit.

  “Then cancel Trilogy and go to Blackstone instead. I’m a member. I’ll leave your name with the guard at the gate.”

  “You can’t seriously get a tee time there at the last minute.”

  “It won’t be a problem.” Of course not. I’d forgotten who I was talking to—whatever Dane Bax wanted …

  He pushed my shirt up and flicked his tongue over the taut peak, igniting my insides. Then he drew my nipple into his mouth and suckled deep. I moaned.

  “Ten o’clock,” he said in a low voice, his warm breath on my skin keeping me highly aroused. “Ethan and I will meet you there.”

  My body stiffened. “You’re going to golf with us?” The panic hit full-on. I pushed him away, yanked down my shirt. This was serious business. I wouldn’t let him distract me. Difficult as it was to have him stop. “With my dad?”

  “Yes. I have to meet him sometime, right?”

  I sat up. Dane didn’t bump boundaries—he bulldozed right through them.

  I couldn’t even challenge him and demand to meet his parents. They were deceased.

  Shaking my head, I said, “That would be a huge mistake of epic proportions.”

  “I promise not to mention how many times I made his one and only daughter come last night.”

  I laughed, despite the anxiety rushing through me. “It’s nice to know you can tell a joke from time to time.”

  He gave me a seductive grin. “Did you doubt it?”

  “Please. Even you can’t dispute that you’re incredibly intense.” Edgy. Sexy. Dangerous. Too, too desirable.

  I bit back a lusty sigh.

  “I have a lot on my mind,” he said by way of a vague excuse.

  Honestly, I was dying of curiosity to hear all about it. Was it just the hotel that made him so conflicted? Did it have anything to do with his massive wealth? His parents’ deaths?

  I considered the hint of guilt that had flitted in his eyes at one point, when we’d been waiting for Alex to bring our cars after the Delfino-Aldridge wedding. What would a man like Dane Bax have to feel guilty over? Had he decided to lie, cheat, and steal his way to the top? Or did he suffer survivor’s guilt because he was alive and his parents weren’t?

  Questions, questions. I needed some answers.

  “So if I let you meet my father,” I ventured into risky territory, “will you tell me why there’s almost next to nothing about you on the Internet?”

  “You Googled me?”

  “Naturally.” I wouldn’t apologize for it. He’d researched me before offering me a job.

  “We’ll talk later,” he said as he threw off the covers and got to his feet.
“I have to call Amano for a ride and make the reservation at Blackstone.”

  His tone was clipped. He didn’t like having the tables turned on him—clearly didn’t appreciate that I intended to push back.

  Too bad. Even Satan had pesky archangels with whom to deal.

  Dane dressed, kissed me, then said mischievously, “I also have to make a drugstore run.” He winked.

  “Don’t you dare flirt with me on the course. In front of my father … Ethan…”

  Oh, crap. I was in way too deep here.

  Dane gave me another kiss—a slow, sexy one—before adding, “Get ready, or you’ll miss our tee time.”

  Then he sauntered off. Leaving me to wonder how he managed to talk me into everything he wanted.

  chapter 10

  I didn’t bother informing my father of the venue change. I figured I’d surprise him, since we had to drive in the same direction as if we were playing Trilogy. I picked him up and we headed out of Sedona, then south on I-17. I tried to ignore the reminder of being on this highway just last night, with Dane doing orgasmic things to me—and having his cock in my mouth.

  Making a man like him come was equivalent to locating the Holy Grail. I still couldn’t believe I’d gotten him so hot and bothered. Had then gotten him off.

  And what he’d done to me afterward, in my townhome …

  My stomach flipped. Though now was hardly the time to think about all that. Instead, I engaged my dad in idle chitchat. When we reached the exit for Loop 303, I peeled off the highway and headed west. The temperature in the Valley had dipped with the nearly endless rainfall and it was a virtually unheard-of seventy-five degrees, according to the digital readout on my rearview mirror. A half dozen hot-air balloons rose above the desert landscape, with low mountains in the background.

  The sun was cloaked by a gray sky but the chance of precipitation was low. It looked like the breeze was minimal, since none of the brush or wildflowers blew in the wind. All in all, a great early-autumn day to hit the links. A nice change of pace from golfing when it was a hundred and fifteen out and my dad itched to play one of the Valley courses.

  I took the exit for Lone Mountain and we entered the back portion of the master-planned community of Vistancia. But rather than take the parkway to Sunset Drive, I slowed at the cobblestone entrance of the country club and turned in.

  My dad spared a glance my way.

  “Wishful thinking?”

  I laughed. “Change in plans.”

  “This is a private development, Ari.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I pulled under the porte cochere and waited for the security guard to approach the driver’s side. Sliding down the window, I said, “Hi. Ari DeMille. We’re guests of Dane Bax.”

  “Of course. Welcome to Blackstone, Ms. DeMille. Mr. Bax and Mr. Evans are already here, at the country club. Do you know where you’re going?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Follow this road until you reach a stone bridge. There’s a sign and the club is on the left.”

  “Thanks.” I waited for the double wooden gates to open. Then we passed through.

  Every minute that ticked by was filled with both excitement over seeing Dane and dread that I’d have to introduce him to my father.

  I eyed my father a moment. He looked a bit perplexed and befuddled. He’d go through the roof if he found out about me and Dane. I was sure of it. My dad had always been protective. So much so that he’d gone toe-to-toe with my mother and the high-priced lawyer she’d secured—at my dad’s expense, since Kathryn DeMille had never worked a day in her life. My mother had wanted full custody. Not because she adored me so much that she didn’t want us separated. That had never been the case.

  What she’d wanted was a bargaining chip. I’d been it. She’d told him she’d give up all parental rights … for a price. That price had drained his savings account and wiped out every single one of his investments. He’d had to give her the house, too. On top of that was alimony, since she was pretty much unemployable with zero experience and no career aspirations above being a professional bitch.

  Yes, I could say that about my mother. I’d lived with her long enough to formulate the educated opinion. The very reason I’d been ignoring the sudden texting she’d tried to engage me in.

  “So, what are we doing here?” my dad asked.

  I pulled into the drive and slowed, taking in all of the self-parking and the valet ahead of us.

  “Seriously?” I said, skirting his question. “The parking lot is like feet away from the entrance and people actually valet park?”

  “Comes with the membership at places like this.”

  “Jesus.” Sure, I grasped the concept of privileged. My dad had been a mover and a shaker in his heyday. We’d had country club memberships when I was a kid. Still … We could manage to walk a short distance from the car to the club.

  I bypassed the valet and easily found a spot. I shut off the engine and we collected our bags from the back.

  Now I had some explaining to do. “Mr. Bax booked our game,” I said, hoping like hell to keep the I am completely enthralled and desperately hot for my boss—and oh, yeah, I’m sleeping with him! from my tone. “He and one of his associates will be joining us.”

  My dad gave me a you’re shitting me look. “Why are we golfing with your boss?”

  “He wanted to meet you, of course.” I shrugged. “You are sort of famous, Dad. A consistent contender for the championship. Anyone who golfs knows who you are and Dane—Mr. Bax—is probably curious to get your take on his courses. It’s only logical that he’d want to meet you here so that you can gauge the tracks of a Jim Engh–designed course.”

  There. That sounded reasonable. Right?

  Unfortunately, my dad didn’t look wholly convinced. But I could tell the prospect of a morning on Blackstone fairways was too tempting to pass up. The devil likely would have known that. He seemed to be one step ahead of me.

  I gave my name again at the check-in stand under the tall archways. The valet suddenly hopped to and I snickered, knowing it had nothing to do with me.

  “Mr. DeMille,” he said, as though I didn’t exist. “It’s an honor to meet you. John Halston. If you need anything at all, let me know.” He grabbed my dad’s clubs.

  I resisted the urge to clear my throat and remind John I was standing there with my own bag slung over my shoulder.

  My dad took my clubs and handed them over.

  John, whom I pegged for mid-forties, recapped a few of my father’s most prestigious on-camera shots and I let him bask in the glory. I’d always been proud of him. Even when my mother trashed him. Her tirades had been completely unnecessary, unwarranted, horrendous. I’d always wondered what her deal was. My dad was well respected within the golf community and amongst media and fans. He was also a very generous man, who volunteered his time to teach kids the basics of the game, especially those in low-income environments.

  But he’d married a Scottsdale prima donna addicted to plastic surgery and double martinis. Big, big mistake.

  When John’s hero worship began to make my dad visibly uncomfortable, I asked him to direct us to the golf shop. The country club was quite beautiful, with a hacienda feel, and was a straight shot from the courtyard that boasted numerous fireplaces and plush patio furniture to the event lawn beyond. Excellent for weddings.

  I followed my dad to the shop and browsed while John set up our cart. I snuck a peek at a few price tags and cringed. I wouldn’t be picking up any cute skirts and tops here. Not that I really needed them. I practically lived in golf clothes when not working, so I already had a closetful. Came with the territory.

  As I scanned the racks, I caught a glimpse of Dane out a side window. He wore black pants and a black polo shirt with thin white horizontal stripes and the Blackstone logo on the left chest. He literally was too captivating for words and I was inexplicably drawn to him.

  I left my dad—discussing with the golf shop pro a putter he wanted to dem
o—and joined Dane on the patio.

  “This is incredible,” I said, luckily finding my voice. It was difficult to latch on to coherent thoughts, other than those wrapped around everything he’d done to me last night. How I’d responded. How I’d begged for him. Begged for more.

  “I’m glad you like it.” He gave me a sigh-worthy grin. “You look damn pretty this morning.”

  “I look like a watermelon,” I quipped as I slid a glance over my fuchsia-and-lime-green-blocked sleeveless collared shirt, paired with a fuchsia skirt. “It was cute on the mannequin at my dad’s golf club, but now that I’m wearing it … Hmm…”

  Dane’s head dipped and he said quietly, “You’re gorgeous.”

  “No flirting, remember?” Though my toes curled in my spikes. I knew to stick to safer territory, so I kept to small talk. “The valet gushed over my dad. Definite ego stroke. You didn’t pay for that, did you? Grease the wheels?”

  “Absolutely not. I only gave your name.”

  His cell rang and his shoulders instantly bunched.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  He hedged. I stared fiercely. I wouldn’t back down from my demand to know more about him. A few suspended seconds ensued. He ignored the call and said, “Yes. The furniture for the penthouse and third-floor suites was delivered to a five-story apartment in a new Monaco skyscraper.”

  “Monaco?” Holy shit. How could anyone make that sort of mistake?

  “Apparently, the front desk staff there signed for it and the deliverymen unloaded, unboxed, and set everything up. So I can’t exactly have it reshipped here.”

  “Well, if no one’s really touched any of it—”

  He shot me a dour look. “Ari.”

  “Right. Damaged goods even if in mint condition.”

  “Everything for the grand opening has to be new—never-before-slept-in beds, never-before-eaten-off-of plates.… You know what I’m saying. Even if they’re just taken out of the packaging somewhere other than the Lux, they’re used.”

  “Of course.” I felt horrifically bad for him. Found myself asking, “Are these normal setbacks?”

  As he stared at me for more endless moments, I wondered if he’d be the one to retreat. Close off this part of himself. But he didn’t. And I admired him for it.