Burned Deep (6 page)

Another blush crept up my neck.
Damn it.

This
was what I carefully avoided in order to stay focused on my dream, and to keep from falling into the trap of mediocre dating that always left me lonelier than I was before I'd met someone new and had given him a chance.

Though, without doubt, there was nothing mediocre about Dane Bax.

His gaze shifted to my face and he continued our original conversation, as if he hadn't just stolen more than a quick glance at my breasts and responded as heatedly as I had. The intense humidity in the air didn't cling to my skin the way his bold gazes did. I felt tingles along my bare flesh and had to reach for my water again.

He said, “We located your application at the hotel—a glitch with the new system.” A troubled expression flitted across his face but quickly disappeared. I surmised there were plenty of
glitches
when it came to bringing a resort online. One of this magnitude was likely rife with challenges and setbacks. I suspected that was the reason for his vacillating consternation—when he wasn't scowling over me being in the clutches of another man.

Continuing, Dane said, “You started your company when you were twenty, while getting your business degree.”

“I took online courses. Ended up with a good deal of time on my hands for weddings. No commuting to class.”

“Right.” He gave a half snort at my easy explanation.

No, school had not been a breeze for me, especially while actively farming for clients. But I'd wanted my own LLC initially and needed to know how to run it. Plus, I'd always considered eventually becoming a corporate planner, so I'd committed to professional training and industry certifications.

“According to this article,” he said, indicating the magazine, “you're on a distinguished list of preferred planners.”

“A celebrity wedding helps to put one on the map.”

“That and the Delfino event.”

“Yes.” I'd already had media inquiries to talk about some of the arrangements I'd made. Mr. Delfino had me sign a nondisclosure statement but it only applied to family information—most specifically, his daughter's pregnancy—not anything related to flowers, decorations, et cetera.

“What's the largest number of guests you've worked with?”

I eyed him speculatively, my stomach fluttering. “Is this a job interview, Mr. Bax?”

His dazzling grin took my breath away. “Perhaps the start of one.” He leaned in, pinning me with an engaging look. “And call me Dane.”

I opened my mouth to speak. No words came out.

His grin widened. “Have dinner with me Saturday night at the hotel and I'll explain.” His voice alone did the most insane things to my inner thighs, making them burn.

Everything within me went haywire. Yet a hint of panic crept around the fringes.

“Dinner?” Not a daytime meeting in his office? Or with Human Resources?

“Are you available?” A mischievous glint edged his beautiful irises.

For dinner, or…?
I had no idea where this might be going.

“I promise it'll be worth your while,” he assured me. The panic must have flashed in my eyes, because his tone changed to one that resonated
no is not an option, Ari.
“I'll send a car for you. Seven o'clock. I'll meet you in the lobby.”

“I—”

“No point in driving yourself. The gate's heavily guarded at present, while we're still in construction phase.”

“I—”

“Don't stay out here too long,” he said as his gaze darted to the clouds overhead. “You'll end up soaked again.”

He stood, hefted his bag, and sauntered off.

Leaving me reeling. Once more.

And wondering if Dane Bax always got what he wanted.

I waited for a water refill and then promptly drained the glass. I stole a few glances toward the small walkway just outside the patio that led from the shops to the parking lot. Dane was texting on his phone. Moments later, a woman joined him.

Statuesque, slim, honey-blond hair. Perfectly sleek and highlighted shiny honey-blond hair, to be exact. She wore skinny jeans, six-inch heels, and a blouse that hung open to reveal the scalloped lace of her bra. Aviator sunglasses covered her eyes and she carried a Louis Vuitton bag on her forearm, said arm crooked, palm up in that society way with which I was all too familiar, because my mother possessed the same air of Scottsdale haughtiness and chic entitlement.

Dane's companion held her phone in the other hand, as though missing a call would result in dire consequences, and she waved her arm emphatically as she spoke with him. I watched with morbid curiosity as she gave him a sudden grave look, listened to something he said, smiled vibrantly, and then leaned in to give him double-cheek air kisses. Her breasts brushed his chest. I tore my gaze away. Paid the bill. Gathered my belongings and ducked into the ladies' room.

When I emerged, Dane and the Heidi Klum lookalike were nowhere in sight. I sighed in relief, not wanting to have to skirt past them. Oddly, a tinge of envy over how cool and aloof the blonde had appeared crept in on me. I was a tangled mess of nervous energy and tingling body parts around him. She'd been collected, affectionate, alluring.

I forced myself to wave off the feeling of jealousy over their obviously close relationship. Accepted the reality that Dane Bax likely dated a half dozen women at any given time, all living in sophisticated places such as New York City, San Francisco, Milan, Paris …

With a shake of my head, I left the restaurant and went about my day.

 

chapter 3

That night, I started sifting through my closet for the perfect outfit. By Thursday afternoon, I'd torn through every article of clothing I owned, trying on each ensemble and discarding it into a wrinkled heap on the chair sitting next to the full-length mirror in my bedroom. Nothing I owned seemed worthy of 10,000 Lux. Or Dane Bax.

Friday morning, I made my apologies to my dad and bailed on a nine-hole round on the executive course in Flagstaff, in lieu of another trip to Tlaquepaque. There was a boutique that specialized in cocktail dresses I'd always admired; they were just typically way out of my price range. I wasn't one to splurge, but desperate times and all that …

I scoured the racks, handing over possibilities to the salesclerk for her to add to the changing room she'd designated for me. I was three quarters of the way through the store, with only a few dresses selected, when I hit the back wall and stared up at the strapless mini on display.

A smile spread over my lips.

“That's the one,” I said to the clerk.

“You're in luck. It's a one-off we received by mistake. I believe it's your size.”

I'd never been into the whole cosmic-kismet-destiny stuff like some of the New Agers in town, but I knew a sign when I saw it.

The garment was a deep emerald, as close to Dane's eyes as one could get, because nothing quite matched their dynamic magnetism. The dress was amazingly beautiful and I couldn't resist it. I'd made my mind up before I'd even seen the price tag, which did make my heart stutter.

Luckily, the Delfinos had already paid me in full for my services, sending the last installment with a gorgeous
thank you
bouquet last week. Along with an invitation to the second reception they'd planned for the newlyweds in Scottsdale, upon their return from a honeymoon cruise and two weeks in Aruba.

I also needed a new pair of black shoes, since mine were more functional and less complementary of my purchase. So I added four-inch heels to my shopping spree and hoped like hell I wouldn't hurt myself when I wore them.

Returning to my townhome, I left the dress in its sealed bag, hanging it in my now-empty closet. I'd have to deal with that disaster later, because I still had work to do. I went into the spare bedroom and sifted through e-mails and then magazines, looking for visuals that would inspire me when it came to some of Shelby Hughes's scrambled thoughts on decorations and themes. I liked the creative process, understanding that not every bride had a full idea of what she wanted, just bits and pieces that needed to be puzzled together.

As the sun dipped over the golf course on which I lived, my stomach grumbled. I made pasta and considered watching a movie, but my mind wandered too much. I grabbed my tablet, flipped the switch on the gas fireplace—since tonight's storm brought the temperature down as the rain fell heartily—and settled on the sofa with a glass of chardonnay.

I needed to do a little research.

Dane had studied up on me; it was time I did the same.

I Googled him and found all kinds of links that led to articles, interviews, and, of course, a Wikipedia page. The latter was a little disconcerting. Actually, every item I devoured was disconcerting. Not just because the word
billionaire
jumped out repeatedly—completely unsettling me. It was the lack of any substantial details that alarmed me most.

I learned he was six-foot-three, though I'd already suspected that. Thirty years old, born to a Philadelphia society family—also lacking details aside from their extreme philanthropic efforts decades ago and the very simple
d.
that denoted they were both deceased. No explanation given. No dates.

That was definitely odd. Causing a chill to run along my spine.

I further learned Dane had graduated from Harvard summa cum laude, having completed the Thesis Track in Economics. He'd built his first boutique resort in Lake Tahoe. Then revived a hotel/casino in Las Vegas. And now he had the Lux.

Just like that.

I frowned. Literally, those were the most revealing details of the man that I could find. Nothing at all personal.

Had he played sports in school? Did he date supermodels? (The blond-haired woman from El Rincon flashed in my head.) How the hell had he made all of his money—was it strictly from an inheritance?

And who was capable of containing so much information so that only the essentials were provided? How much did
that
cost?

My stomach twisted as I recalled his comment regarding money being the root of all evil … and the ensuing hard set of his features. This intrigued me the most. It was a strange thing for a billionaire to say.

Then again, I imagined there had to be a dark side to amassing such wealth. My parents were a prime example on a much,
much
smaller scale. Finances had always been an issue for them. My mother had been obsessed with being one of the pampered “ladies who lunch” in Scottsdale, where I'd been born. She'd spent just about every penny my dad brought in from his PGA tours. She'd put substantial pressure on him to win a championship, a Masters,
anything and everything
that would garner the massive bucks. And when he'd failed because of his injuries … things had taken a serious dive.

He'd been devastated all the way around. Afterward, when the electricity or water was sometimes shut off, he'd shrug and say he'd forgotten to pay the bill. Around the time I was sixteen or so, I'd discovered the truth. He was flat broke. She'd taken him to the cleaners, big-time—financially and emotionally. And it hadn't been until he'd scored the GM position at the club in Sedona that he'd dug himself out of the hole.

There were so many things about my childhood that made me shudder when I checked my own balance online. Though I had a safety net with a savings account, I still lived in fear of not being able to make ends meet. Especially since we'd moved to a sketchy part of downtown Phoenix after the fallout. I honestly couldn't take scorpions crawling up the walls again or crouching in corners if I had to leave Sedona and find something more affordable in the Valley.

I'd been so relieved when my dad had moved us here with his new job.
So
relieved, I'd cried for a week. He'd never really known why, because we kept stuff like that to ourselves.

Setting aside the tablet, I reached for my wine and sipped while I pushed aside my dismal and sometimes horrifying childhood and instead contemplated the ambiguity around Dane Bax.

Why so secretive? And what drove him to build, according to all news reports, what was projected to be the most lavish resort in North America? What was his next goal—a hotel to rival the only seven-star resort in the world, the Burj Al Arab in Dubai?

That extraordinarily ambitious aspiration made my palms sweat. Because the determined set of Dane's jaw and his steely gaze made me believe it was a distinct possibility. And he was only thirty, after all.

Anxiety roiled through me.

Maybe it was best not to know so much about him.

As I tried to alter my mind-set from the gorgeous billionaire, while streaming
Breaking Bad,
my phone buzzed with an incoming text. I paused the show and read, my spirits plummeting.

Saw your feature in SW Weddings,
my mother wrote.
You must be doing well for yourself.

I stared at those words, fighting the dread that came with the sinking feeling of
what is she up to now?

*   *   *

Late Saturday afternoon, I tried to relax with a bubble bath—
impossible
—then carefully did my makeup and hair before slipping into my new dress.

The driver arrived promptly at seven. We left the townhome and drove through Sedona, heading west, then north to a striated red-rock canyon. The scenery was spectacular as the sun began to set over the mesas. I loved this time of night, because of the way the rays illuminated the various hues of orange and red on the pinnacles, which ranged in size and shape from mountainous to tall, artistic sculptures and spires.

Set amongst it all was 10,000 Lux, also situated near several ponds and streams with placid mirrored surfaces. The grounds were lush and stunning, the foliage all meticulously trimmed and vibrant. I caught glimpses through the decorative black wrought-iron and gold-leaf fencing that stretched between cream-colored columns topped with enormous gaslit lanterns, winking seductively against the encroaching twilight.