Burned Deep (9 page)

He swept a wayward curl from my cheek. His skin was warm. Soft. I sucked in a breath. And involuntarily shrank back.

Tension instantly radiated from him. “Sorry,” he murmured. He stood in a swift move. “That's going to be a problem.”

“It just happens,” I said in sort of a floundering way. I stared up at him, my stomach twisting. “There's nothing for you to apologize about. It's just—” I gave a small shrug. “I get a little uncomfortable. Sometimes.”

He eyed me closely for endless seconds, obviously trying to interpret everything about me. Maybe I wasn't normal after all. Wouldn't most women want this sort of attention, especially from
him
? Particularly when they lusted after him in turn?

Yet somehow, the reality of him touching me—someone so anti-intimacy, while he clearly fought his aggressive nature—was a difficult wall to scale.

Finally tearing his gaze away, he spun around and crossed the room to the wet bar. I felt a peculiar void as he broke eye contact and gave me his back. A strange chill slithered through me. Not eerie, but … empty.

Okay, Ari, be honest. At least with yourself.

I'd liked sitting next to him, our thighs pressed together. I'd liked his fingers brushing over my cheek. I'd like the way he'd stared so intently into my eyes.

I even liked how he filled my mind just about every second of the day. There was something about him, something about
us
, that made me wonder if that crazy day in the bar had been fated. Had he been there to rescue me in more ways than just keeping me out of the clutches of a spiky-haired blond with a creepy tattoo, or even the good-looking, flirtatious Kyle Jenns?

Or was he someone offering things a woman such as myself shouldn't get wrapped around the axle over? Was he a savior? Or was he detrimental to the perfectly constructed life I'd built following all the troubles I'd encountered as a kid?

I had no answers, and that scared me all the more. But eclipsing the fear was the arousal that seeped through my veins when he turned back to me and I took him in from head to toe—breathing him in, getting lost in every magnificent fiber of his being.

He returned with a glass and handed it over.

I took a long sip of scotch, then set the cocktail on the end table and said, “It'd be okay if you sat next to me.”

Joining me once more, he gave me another of his scrutinizing looks and asked, “Are you afraid of me?”

“Not in the way you might think. You're intimidating, yes. But, it's more like…” I didn't really know how to explain, exactly what to say. No one had asked me that sort of question before. No one had really wanted to know why I kept my distance. And I truly wasn't sure anyone would understand.

It'd taken me a long time to notice how I always lingered on the fringes, even when wholly present in a conversation or with my wedding planning. I had a simple theory, really. Not touching, and not being touched, led to not missing physical contact when instances of it were so few and far between.

I'd never put stock in affection. My parents weren't of the sentimental, demonstrative variety—except when they were hurling things at a wall. Nor had the half-dozen guys I'd spent brief time with employed any sort of finesse beyond the few thrusts it took to get off.

Something else occurred to me. I had never felt the electric currents I did when Dane was close, when he looked at me, when his fingers grazed my skin.

He waited patiently for me to elaborate, but I couldn't quite summarize for him how keeping the bottom from falling out of my life—the way it had for my dad—was imperative.

Dane didn't seem inclined to let me off the hook, though. Continued to gaze at me expectantly.

Finally, I said, “It's sort of a self-imposed thing. Don't take it personally.”

“Impossible,” he murmured.

Heat erupted in my belly. Spread outward. A tempting, tantalizing sensation.

I got to my feet, albeit shakily. I crossed to the patio doors and stepped onto the terrace, needing the respite of cool air. The scenery really was too fabulous for words. The most stunning scenario to find myself in.

And the most amazing, breathtaking man I'd ever known—would
ever
know—offered me my own slice of the gorgeous pie.

When I felt him standing behind me, I dared to ask, “What, exactly, do you want from me—aside from accepting the director position?”

“You already know what I want.” He stepped closer, so that I inhaled his rich scent, more intoxicating and decadent than the most expensive champagne.

“Be specific,” I implored. Because I knew I dug a deeper hole every second I stayed here. I was entranced, hopelessly drawn into his beautiful, magnificent world. Entangled in a mysterious web I knew was dangerous to get caught in, but it was one I couldn't seem to find the good sense to escape. Even when I had the chance.

His fingers gently swept my hair over one shoulder, purposely not grazing my skin. His head dipped and I felt his warm breath on my nape. A delicious shiver rippled down my spine.

His lips were so close to my neck, I could almost feel them. Though I knew I imagined that—because I
craved
the feeling. The one thing I avoided most in life. The ultimate threat.

“Dane,” I urged him to lay it all on the line. Because this was hazardous.

He whispered against my throat, “I want to touch you.” His breath rustled the wispy strands of hair, teasing me further. But he wasn't done. “Ari,” he said in his sexy, enticing voice. “I want to
taste
you.”

 

chapter 5

I didn't breathe for several seconds.
Couldn't
breathe.

I'd never felt so surrounded—so permeated—by male heat, strength, aggression. It swept over my skin, burned through my body. The overwhelming desire to have Dane's hand at the small of my back, a gesture I'd always deemed too intimate, took hold of me and wouldn't let go. I willed it to happen, wanting the physical connection to coalesce with the visceral.

But that was impossible.

Just as I felt him make the move, I stepped away. Though liquid fire still rushed through my veins. I returned to the office. Dane closed the terrace doors behind us and followed me into the wide corridor.

We walked to the elevators in silence. When we reached them, I asked, “Is this the normal interviewing process for all your female executives?”

I instantly thought of the statuesque honey-blonde and wondered if she worked here. Had he enticed her with a fabulous office, breath-stealing words, and a salary to keep her closet stocked with Louis Vuitton?

I grimaced inwardly. That thought didn't exactly gel in my mind. Dane didn't seem like the type to burn both ends of the fuse when they could meet explosively in the middle.

And his sharp look said he wouldn't dignify my question with a response.

I was afraid that would be the case. My instincts were a little too fine-tuned when it came to this man.

We entered the elevator and it took us down to the second floor. Miyanaga had covered our food with metal domes to keep the steaks warm. Not necessary for me. I'd lost my appetite. Nothing could compete with the inferno, raging out of control. I snatched my clutch and the note card and held on tight—so I wouldn't touch Dane.

I wanted him in ways I couldn't fully comprehend. It went beyond just having his hand at the small of my back. Far beyond my simple fantasy of him shoving my skirt up and thrusting into me. This wasn't something I could get out of my system by asking him to take me to one of the hotel rooms for a quick fuck.

This wasn't
anything
like my past hookups. For God's sake, it wasn't even a hookup and still I felt deeply entangled in something I could neither dissect nor wrap my arms around. I was so ensnared that the only word tripping through my mind was
inevitable.

An alarming fate from which I couldn't break free. Worse, I wasn't sure I
wanted
to break free. Perhaps that was why I found it so alarming.

Rallying a bit of resistance, I told him, “I need to go.”

His hands were in his pockets and, once again, he didn't crowd me. He shifted slightly and I walked past him, onto the mezzanine. He was by my side as we descended the stairs and crossed the vast lobby to the front doors. It started to rain. The valet, Brandon, opened a large black umbrella with the resort name in gold script across it.

Dane finally spoke. “I want an answer by five o'clock on Monday.”

I glanced at him, taking in the hard set of his jaw and the steel determination in his eyes, rimmed with lust. My stomach fluttered.

“For which?” I asked, a bit breathless.

“For both.”

“Dane.” Nervous exhilaration shimmied through me. “You can't put a time line on—” I shook my head. This was all happening so fast. He was certainly determined—and obviously willing to press my hand.

A scowl canted his mouth, as it had in the bar when he'd rescued me. The same expression that darkened his features and made him even more mesmeric. I wanted to be alone with him even though that had already proved dangerous. I wanted Brandon to disappear so I could stand there and breathe in Dane along with the rain-scented air.

Desire was such a tricky beast, such a double-edged sword. I wanted him, but I didn't
want
to want him. It was cruel, really. Painful.

I tore my gaze from his and headed to the Jag, Brandon falling into step with me. I slipped into the vehicle and tried to still my frenzied insides. A worthless effort. The car pulled away, circled the mammoth waterfalls, and started down the long drive. I turned in the seat and stole a look out of the back window.

Dane stood just outside the main doors, beneath the slight overhang of 10,000 Lux, as the downpour turned violent and lightning streaked the sky. He remained there as we turned the bend.

Watching me go.

*   *   *

“You should be practicing your chipping and pitching,” my dad said as I joined him on the driving range of the private club where he worked.

I dropped my bucket of balls on the ground, whipped out a tee, and stabbed it into the damp earth. I grabbed a driver and whacked the hell out of three balls before I said, over my shoulder, “Chipping and pitching take thought and concentration.” Teeing off helped to relieve sexual tension. Granted, I could spend a week at this and I'd be just as wound up as I had been from the moment I'd laid eyes on Dane Bax, but still. It felt good to assert myself.

“Something wrong?” my dad asked, concern lacing his tone.

“Not really. Just a lot on my mind.”

“Humph.” He went back to working on an already perfect swing, stopping about ten minutes later to say, “You've really improved over the past few years. We should get out more frequently.”

“We golf twice a week, Dad. And then spend Sunday morning here.”

“I was just saying.”

With a laugh, I asked, “Is that guy-speak for ‘I'd like to see you more often'?”

“Something like that.”

If it were anyone else I was talking to, I'd suggest he find himself a girlfriend. But that was a volatile subject, so I avoided the land mine. “Chances are, I'm about to be busier than before,” I warned.

“Oh?”

I stepped away from the tee and faced him. “Have you heard anything about 10,000 Lux?”

“Sure. It's created quite the buzz around here. Five golf courses by the best designers, including Nicklaus and Engh. Member fees are through the roof—too rich for my blood.”

I smiled, about to make his day. “You might get to golf there for free.”

His head snapped up from his shot and he speared me with a look. “You win the lottery?”

My dad never messed around when it came to playing world-class courses.

With a noncommittal shrug, I said, “Not exactly. Well, sort of, but not in the traditional sense. I met the owner of the resort. He offered me a job.”

My dad whistled under his breath. “At 10,000 Lux? You realize it's featured in all the national golf magazines?”

“Yes, and in newspapers. The position is Events Director. Totally in charge of all festivities.” Anxiety tripped down my spine. I ignored it.

“Wow, Sweets.” His brows knitted. “That's … Uh. Wow.”

I grimaced. “Translation: ‘way the hell over my head'?”

“I didn't say that,” he was quick to assure me. “It's just that … I've heard enough about the hotel to know they'll host events several levels above small weddings in Sedona.”

“Numerous levels,” I corrected. And the anxiety mounted. “He seems pretty convinced I can handle it.”

“He?” My dad's voice hitched to that
uh-oh
octave.

I was
so
there with him.

“Dane Bax.” That was all I planned to say about the man I couldn't get off my mind. The one I'd lain in bed last night obsessing over, fantasizing about. I'd never been fixated on a man's hands, on his lips, on his entire being, so that no sensible thoughts formed in my head the way they should when I entered risky territory.

Then again … I'd never met anyone like Dane Bax.

To diffuse whatever might next come out of my father's mouth, I added, “The grand opening is New Year's Eve. I'd get to plan it. Since there are pre-launch events, I'll be decking the halls with boughs of holly.”

“You're not really the holiday type,” he reminded me. We hadn't been particularly festive around the DeMille household when I was growing up.

“It could actually be fun. Something different.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
”

“Cute,” my dad said. “The owner has already made you an offer?”

I nodded, knowing it'd be best not to mention the astounding salary that came with the outrageous yearly budget. I really didn't want to get into a discussion over that. I was still reeling from those figures.