Burned Deep (Burned 1)

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 dem

o—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?”