Flash Burned (7 page)

“Not a chance. I could starve and still want you.” I kissed him. “But that won't happen, because we have the very brilliant Chef D'Angelo on our side. He gave me a fantastic recipe for this evening.” I pulled away and said, “Oh, shit. I forgot to tell you. My dad and I don't eat turkey and ham on Thanksgiving Day. We're going a bit off the beaten path when he comes for dinner.”

“That's fine.” One dark brow jerked up. “You did notice the massive amount of food I consumed at all three events yesterday? It's a wonder I didn't end up in the ER with my stomach pumped.”

“No one said you had to eat
everything.
”

“It was just so damn good.”

I couldn't argue that point. Nor could Kyle, because he'd pretty much scarfed down everything in sight. As had the rest of the staff. The only reason I hadn't devoured all the mouthwatering food was because I'd been busy assessing the planning my team and I had executed, deflecting Kyle, and trying to placate Dane while I purposely kept him at arm's length so no one would speculate about us.

No wonder I'd slept until ten.

Thinking of that made me jump. “I have to call my dad. We missed a round with him at his golf club—sacrilege in his eyes.” And one more detail in my life that I'd accidentally let slip.

“I took care of it,” Dane said. “Phoned him a little after seven. I reminded him about all the activities at the hotel yesterday and how fatigued you were. He completely understood. We rescheduled for noon, if you're up to it.”

My heart melted. “You don't miss a beat, and think of everything.” I kissed him again, then added, “I'll hop in the shower and we can go.”

I whirled around, but he snaked an arm around my waist and hauled me up against him, my back to his front. “Not so fast. There's time for you to eat breakfast, and you'll need the fuel for the course.”

“True.”

“Plus…” He turned me to face him. “I want you to acknowledge what happened between us last night.”

I toyed with him. “A really great orgasm?”

He nipped at my lower lip. “Now's not the time to be a smart-ass.”

“Actually, sarcasm and comedy are all about timing.”

His eyes smoldered. My body burned.

“You win. As always,” I said. “In addition to a great orgasm, I agreed to marry you.”

“Yes, you did.” His mouth sealed mine in a tantalizing lip-lock that made my toes curl and my pussy throb.

He didn't let up and I melted against him, grateful for his strong arms holding me tight. Mine encircled his neck and I clung to him, letting him take his time, letting him take the lead.

Until I lost myself in him.

*   *   *

We were a few minutes late for our rescheduled tee time with my dad. He pretended it was no big deal, but I could tell it irked him, being the former pro that he was. My game was severely off, which also concerned him. I didn't give a damn about my score. How was I supposed to concentrate when all I could think about was Dane—and the fact that he wanted to someday marry me?

Following an unusually poor showing on my part, but stellar on Dad's and Dane's, we met up at the house.

“This is for you,” my father said as he handed over a lovely autumn centerpiece for our dinner table. It didn't quite scream Thanksgiving, because he wasn't into holidays. Hadn't been since his nasty divorce from my mother, whom I'd rarely ever spoken with after I'd turned eighteen. Until she'd shown up on my doorstep a couple of months ago, trying to extort money from me. Telling me she'd exploit the affairs she'd had when my dad was on his PGA tours with a tell-all book.

Dane had eventually stepped in … and that had been that. I'd never had to mention a word to my dad or freak him out in any way, for which I was grateful.

“This floral arrangement is perfect.” I gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Dad.”

I left the men to football on the ginormous screen in Dane's theater room while I went into the kitchen. Chef D'Angelo had sworn I couldn't fuck up his extremely detailed instructions for Chicken Saltimbocca and I prayed he was right. Not only did I want my father to enjoy dinner with us, I also wanted to impress Dane with my developing culinary skills.

A small insecurity I couldn't shake. He excelled at everything. Even as he joked about not having much talent with food and saying all he knew about cooking came from Betty Crocker—since he'd grown up having personal chefs at his beck and call—he still made the most amazing omelets and eggs Benedict. Maybe it was crazy to want to do something just slightly better than him. I suspected this was the only arena in which I could compete.

So … game on.

I had a couple of hours to prepare, since we'd had a late lunch on the course. Therefore, I pan-seared boneless, skinless chicken breasts and then slow-cooked them in a creamy white-wine-and-asparagus-flavored Alfredo sauce I concocted, with fresh prosciutto, sage, and chunks of mushrooms. I added crisp asparagus spearheads toward the end of the process, along with quarters of cherry tomatoes, so they were warmed but still juicy. Then I sliced the chicken and arranged it on a platter, drizzling the sauce over it.

As a secondary dish I grilled a couple of medium-rare, peppercorn-encrusted New York Strips.

I set the largest of the tables on the patio so I could place all of the food there with us and no one had to move to enjoy. I served a tossed salad with a zesty Italian dressing. Fettuccine accompanied the chicken; whipped garlic potatoes complemented the steak. I'd also baked sourdough and artisan breads, which I paired with olive oil and balsamic vinegar with rosemary, and a basil aioli.

Dane selected the wines from his vast cellar and also nestled a bottle of private-reserve Dom in a chiller.

“This is quite the feast, sweets,” my dad said as he eyed the spread.

“Let's hope it tastes as good as it smells,” I quipped.

“It'll be fantastic.” He grinned. “I didn't realize you cooked more than spaghetti and fish.”

“I've been spending a lot of time with the Food and Beverage people at work—I'm sort of inspired. Really, considering how much I've eaten the past couple of months, it's a wonder I'm still hungry tonight. Or that I have any clothes that fit.”

“You look sensational, as always,” Dane said with a wink as he offered a glass of bubbly.

My cheeks flushed over his flirtation in front of my father—who cleared his throat and tried not to appear uncomfortable with the way Dane gazed so lustfully at me.

Unfortunately given my mass consumption of food of late, I couldn't block the flash of Dane's childhood friend Mikaela Madsen from my mind. His supertall, superhot, supermodel-like friend, to be exact.

She'd attempted to buddy up to me when she'd seen Dane and me together a few times, but then dropped out of sight when I'd left the Lux. And Dane.

I was certain that once she returned from Italy with her boyfriend and soon-to-be business partner, Fabrizio Catalano, and discovered I was back at the hotel—and back with Dane—that she'd be knocking on my office door with gifts, like before. Keep her enemies close, I suspected was her game.

She had her own security badge for 10,000 Lux, after all. Something no other nonemployee possessed, given Dane's ultra-tight safety and confidentiality measures. They didn't apply to Mikaela. I'm not sure any rules did.

But I didn't want to spoil the evening with thoughts of the Heidi Klum look-alike, so I forced myself to get over it.

When both men had champagne in hand, Dane casually said, “Here's to good company, good food, and good health.” Not making a fuss about the holiday. I appreciated that greatly, and I could see that my dad did as well.

We all clinked rims and sipped.

“Mm, the expensive stuff,” my father said, impressed.

“We'll break out the scotch and cigars later,” Dane tempted him.

“Now we're talking.”

I gestured for them to sit and started passing the salad and bread around. Dane graciously opted for my dad to take the head of the table, even though it was Dane's house, his domain. I found that respectful. Clearly, it was one more thing about my boyfriend that my father had to admire, regardless of how he felt about Dane being too old for me at thirty. Really, I thought that was code for Dane being too
mature
and
sophisticated
for me. Not to mention well beyond my tax bracket.

I'd gotten an earful of
Are you sure you know what you're doing, sweets?
when I'd told my father I was moving in with Dane. But maybe now he saw that I hadn't turned into a Stepford or become some sort of concubine.

Actually, I supposed I did serve that last purpose, since we weren't married. And hardly a day went by without us stripping each other bare and going at it like sex-starved addicts.

The smile returned. I just couldn't contain it for long.

After dinner, Dane and my father surprised me by offering to clean up, but I shooed them away for more football and the afore-promised scotch and cigars on the patio off the theater room. I didn't need them throwing my organized kitchen off-balance. I'd rearranged all the cabinets and drawers, since I wanted everything in its proper place so I could find even the most minor of accessories.

My OCD made me a successful planner, but it also made me anal-retentive about my workspace. Even Rosa had had to learn where I now kept dishes and flatware and how I wanted the pots and pans arranged on the rack that hung over the large island.

I served chocolate lava cake and coffee during halftime, bypassing the traditional pumpkin pie. My father stuck around for the rest of the game, which pleased me. I could tell he'd reluctantly had a good time, even clasping Dane on the shoulder as they shook before he kissed me and climbed into his car.

We went back inside the house once my dad had cleared the gate. I hoped he could find his way out. It was a tricky location, set off back roads in scenic Oak Creek Canyon. But I'd given him detailed written directions, so I figured he'd be okay.

“I'm ready for a shower,” I said. “After golfing and cooking … I must stink pretty bad.”

Dane chuckled, low and deep in my ear as his arms slid around me from behind. “You were amazing today. Dinner was incredible.”

“Thank you. My game, however, was atrocious.”

“You didn't seem to mind while we were on the course.”

“That was because I was admiring the view. You have a very powerful swing. There were a couple of tee-offs when I actually thought you'd edge out Dad by a few yards.”

“Luckily, I'm not quite as good as him.”

“Yes, that is fortunate. He's having enough trouble digesting the fact that we're living in sin.”

“Ah, but not for long,” Dane reminded me. As if I could forget. “Though … you didn't mention it to him.”

“First of all, it was challenging enough to have him come for dinner while we all pretended it wasn't a holiday. Thanks for playing along, by the way.”

“As much as you've told me about your family situation, I can understand how Thanksgiving might seem … sardonic … to him.”

“That's a very polite way of putting it,” I muttered. Then I worked out of Dane's tight embrace and turned to face him. “What were holidays like at the estate in Philadelphia, when you were growing up?”

“Eventful,” he said. “My aunt went all out for everything, every year. Even when she wasn't feeling well because of the cancer. Apparently, my mother had been big on decorating the mansion and helping the kitchen staff with the meals, so Aunt Lara stepped into the role—and claimed she adored it. I had no basis of comparison, of course, but I thought she did an exceptional job.”

“She must have loved you a lot. To raise you and make sure all of the family traditions stayed intact, were passed along to you. It couldn't have been easy. She must have given up some of her own dreams.”

“She once told me she'd never intended to have children. My parents had planned a big family, and Aunt Lara had offered to serve as nanny. She liked kids. She just wasn't interested in having her own brood. Primarily, I think, because she'd had some not so healthy relationships with men when she was young. But then, later on…” He grinned coyly. “She found the right one.”

I regarded him suspiciously. “Oh? You never mentioned she married.”

“She didn't. They tried to keep it covert. But I found out about it.”

A twinkle in his eye had me dying of curiosity. “Who?” And then it hit me. “Oh, my God. Amano!”

With a nod, Dane said, “I think they were very happy together. More than just wanting to stay on to protect me and the estate, I'm pretty sure he kept his job in the mansion to be close to her.”

“Wow. That's so romantic. Oh, but … tragic, too.” Considering Dane's aunt had passed a few years ago.

“Yes, it is. But I'm happy they'd found each other.”

I couldn't help but think, once again, of Dane's neighbor and friend. “Did Mikaela spend holidays with you all?”

“Yes, she did. Her mother sometimes, too, when she wasn't otherwise engaged.”

I eyed him curiously. “So, while Dad was away being an ambassador, her mom was…?”

“They had an open marriage.”

I stared at Dane. “How does that work, exactly?” I shook my head. “I mean, I grasp the concept, but … What's the point in even getting married? If you're not committed to each other, want outside relationships, want to sleep with other people, then why bother?”

“I don't know,” he told me with a pointed look. “It's not anything I'd ever be interested in or would ever agree to. I'd never let another man touch you.” He said this with grave conviction.

The very reason he was so fixated on Kyle's attraction to me, and precisely why I constantly reiterated with my friend where he really stood.