Burned Deep (19 page)

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 demo—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.

He said, “I've dealt with plenty of obstacles with my other two properties. These are just more … tedious.”

“Versus?”

His jaw set. Amazingly, I
knew
that look. Within a month of meeting him, I could identify the dark expression that screamed his desire to sidestep my question.

“Dane.” I refused to be sidestepped.

He regarded me awhile longer, then said, “Legitimate.”

I didn't exactly follow. He caught on.

“The troubles I've seen in the past with bringing up a hotel were all predictable. Textbook, really, so I'd anticipated them and could easily combat them. What's happening at the Lux…” He shook his head. Angst rolled off his tongue as he said, “This is more targeted.”

His eyes deepened in color, his forehead crinkled with dismay.

I reeled from just one word.

Targeted.

As in, specific issues, an expensive prank of sorts, or … sabotage?

I didn't get the chance to ask and was stuck with my off-the-charts inquisitiveness where Dane was concerned. My father and Ethan joined us. I made the introductions.

“Thanks for inviting us,” my dad said as he shook Dane's hand. My dad wore a guarded expression and his tone was a bit strained. He totally knew something was up. Did Dane and I exude our attraction to each other? Granted, he did stand a bit too close. Couldn't seem to take his eyes off me.

“It's nice to meet you,” Dane said. “I'm a fan.”

“You're not old enough to remember me.”

“Sure I am,” Dane insisted with a smile. “I started golfing when I was in high school. You were in The Open that year.”

He'd retired not long after that.

“Well, it wasn't a win, unfortunately.”

“But an incredible showing.”

“Thank you.”

Dane didn't overdo it. He said, “Shall we?”

We each grabbed a club from our cart and warmed up, me putting and the guys pitching and chipping. At ten o'clock, we hit the first tee. Dane and Ethan demonstrated impressive drives, though my dad edged them both out by several yards on the fairway. I smiled inwardly. Dane would naturally draw out my father's competitive side and it'd be fun to see him so into his game again.

I teed up last, from the women's ledge, and my ball landed not too far from Ethan's.

Dane grinned. “Excellent swing, Miss DeMille.”

I smirked, since no one could see it as I sauntered past him. “Smart-ass,” I whispered. “Call me Ari.”

“That's not exactly what I want to call you, either.”

Baby
popped into my head. A thrill ran down my spine. “Don't you dare!” My cheeks flamed.

He chuckled. “Just keeping the ball in my court.”

So he was on a power trip … because I'd been poking and prodding?

I joined my dad in our cart and we were off.

The tracks ran fast and I had to adjust my game a bit to accommodate the challenging fairways. It was a fabulous course. Although I was a bit disgruntled over the strokes I racked up, I said at one point, “This is almost on par with the Robert Trent Jones Golf Club on Lake Manassas.”

“You've played his Virginia course?” Dane asked, looking duly impressed.

“Sure. My dad was always getting invitations to exclusive clubs. He took me most of the time.”

“No wonder you're so good,” Dane said as we walked toward the green.

“I should be better,” I admitted. “I need to get out more.”

“That shouldn't be a problem now. I do have five new courses for you to explore.” He winked.

I couldn't help but think, once again, that perhaps meeting him really had been fated. I wasn't sure a supermodel would be excited by the prospect of playing award-winning links.

Dane chatted up my dad on the next several holes. Though I could tell my father was a bit suspicious, he couldn't seem to help but like Dane—that magnetic personality again—laughing heartily at some of his jokes and giving him pointers on his swing.

My good time, however, came to a screeching halt when I dropped in a bunker.

“Fuck me,” I grumbled under my breath.

“I will again,” Dane muttered from behind.
“Soon.”

Heat rushed through my veins. “Don't you have a ball in the rough to go find?”

He gave me his sexy smile. Yeah, my game was shot to hell now. I nearly tripped over my own two feet at the way he looked at me, all possessive and brimming with lust.

While he went in search of his ball from his only slice, I caught up with my father and grabbed my sand wedge and putter. He'd overshot the green and left the cart to trudge over the hill. Ethan was the only one who'd neatly landed close to the pin.

Softly swearing a blue streak, I took three swings at my ball. It hit the wall of the trap each time.

Suddenly there were strong arms around me, large hands covering mine on the club. Dane's deliciously hunky body pressed against my backside.

“From this angle,” he said as he put my arms in motion, “come down right behind the ball. Really slam into the sand.” He guided me confidently through the practice swing.

Seriously? He expected me to concentrate on golfing when he was wrapped around me, fully surrounding me, his commanding presence seeping through my body?