Burned Deep (Burned 1)

“It’s not something he should have gotten away with, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Sooo … what? You wish you’d punched him in the face for good measure?”

“I was thinking the gut, but breaking his nose probably would have given me equal satisfaction.”

I couldn’t tell if he was kidding … or deathly serious. That raw intensity I’d noted in the bar still exuded from him. He had a very dangerous edge to him, one that made my nerves jump but which excited me all the same. A surreal combination. Definitely not a sane elixir to be tempted by, and yet … I was tempted by this man.

For reasons I couldn’t fully fathom. Reasons that went well beyond a simple attraction. I was drawn to him in a compelling, unshakable way.

Eventually finding my voice, though it sounded a bit breathy—as it had in the bar—I said, “Thanks again. Especially for keeping my wedding party from a scuffle. We had enough to contend with because of the storm.”

“You handled it all well—until someone decided to manhandle you.” He shook his head. Ground his teeth. He wasn’t letting the slight go.

I wanted to ask him why it bothered him so much. Kyle and the others had clearly been ready to come to my aid. Why had this man felt it necessary to do so, particularly with the whole don’t mess with me vibe he had going on?

I eyed him closely, taking in his sculpted features and mysterious air, and found myself wondering if perhaps he had a different agenda … though I couldn’t for the life of me imagine what it might be.

“Would you like me to bring your car around, Mr. Bax?” Alex asked courteously, interrupting the broken silence. I’d forgotten all about the valet. Nothing else had existed for several minutes—except the two of us.

“I’d appreciate that,” he said, his gaze still on me, though he spoke to Alex the way he had with Tat Guy. When we were alone, he introduced himself with an efficient, “Dane Bax.” His eyes glowed, and his voice was low and seductive. Making me nearly lose all coherent thought.

Luckily, I remembered my own name. “Ari DeMille.”

He extended his hand. I stared at it for a second or two, hedging against that anchoring temptation.

Then I employed my common trick of reaching for a business card in my oversized tote bag, filled with all manner of wedding-emergency necessities—soon to be home to a backup outfit. I placed the card in his palm to avoid an actual handshake. I didn’t need to feel his skin on mine. His voice would no doubt spring to mind when I was between the sheets. I didn’t need anything else fanning the flames.

Several moments passed before he dragged his gaze from me and glanced down at the white linen cardstock bearing my logo and Simply Elegant printed with a flourish in rich, glossy obsidian. The back was a reverse color scheme, black with my Web and social media addresses in white script.

“Stylish. Representative of the woman herself.”

“Right,” I scoffed as my cheeks flushed. “I’m a drowned rat.”

He didn’t seem to think so. His beautiful eyes slid over me. Taking in my sensible shoes with a modest, chunky heel for extensive time on my feet, up my bare legs to the black pencil skirt I wore, paired with a silver satin buttoned blouse and Tahitian pearl necklace. My clothes were still damp, as was my dark-brown hair. It hung loose about my shoulders, the strands originally curled in fluffy beach waves. Now they were straight and combed away from my face with my fingers.

I applied more makeup during events than my normal business day and had turned my blue eyes smoky and added an extra coat of mascara for the occasion. Thank God it was waterproof.

His attention lingered for endless seconds on my glossy lips. Then his gaze slowly lifted to meet mine again.

My breath caught. Heat fringed the emerald pools and one corner of his mouth lifted.

“Your name is rather unique,” I said by way of idle chitchat as I willed my pulse to ease up a bit. Seriously, it was a wonder I got the words out. Desire flowed through every inch of me. My inner thighs quivered. My nipples tingled. All with just a blazing look from the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on.

“‘Bax’ is from the German bagan—to fight.” Ah. Didn’t that explain oh so much? Even the way he said his last name held a discernible I don’t let people fuck with me connotation. He added, “I thought perhaps we’d met before, but I was mistaken.” A flicker of something contemplative and beyond my comprehension replaced the heat in his eyes. But then he grinned again, chasing away the moment or two of disquiet.

No, we definitely had not met before. I would remember this man.

I will remember this man.

It was an inescapable reality.

Maybe it was the fact that we seemed to be so aware of each other that had given him the impression I was familiar. Maybe that was why he’d stepped in at the bar. I’d probably never know for sure.

With a fluid movement he whisked out his own business card and handed it over. I studied the thick pewter-gray matte stock with his contact information in a satiny accent a hue lighter than the card. Very avant-garde. On the back was a rendering of an astonishing hotel facade.

“Oh.” I glanced up, realization dawning. I’d seen this particular schematic for the ultra-lavish resort that was being touted as the West’s Plaza Hotel. Though larger. More extravagant. More exclusive. Members only, along with elite guests upon special invitation. Rumor had it, the Bellagio rolled into Caesars Palace couldn’t compete with the glitz and glamour of this destination hotel. “You own 10,000 Lux?”

“Yes.” His smile was more engaging this time, showing me straight, snow-white teeth against his tanned skin.