Burned Deep (Burned 1)

Had I needed to focus on the budget or selecting employees from the first round of interviews, I would have been screwed. I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering to Dane and whatever he had planned for the evening.

Well. I had a fairly good idea of the latter. He’d told me to pack clothes, after all.

I left the office at five and, once home, took a shower and changed into a red dress I thought he might like. I did my hair and makeup. Debated on what to bring by way of sleepwear, though I suspected it was a clothing-optional sort of evening. I packed yoga pants and a tank top. Added all the necessities for doing myself up in the morning. Then grabbed a black suit and a white buttoned shirt from the closet. I was ready when Amano knocked on the door.

Thankfully, he was the silent, alert type who didn’t bother with small talk. He seemed to grasp that was perfectly acceptable to me and didn’t even try to engage beyond the polite, “Good evening, Miss DeMille.”

We wound our way up the very breathtaking Oak Creek Canyon, a dark setting because of overhanging trees and a cloudy night sky. Several back roads later—I would never actually be able to find this place on my own—we waited for the massive security gate to open and then pulled alongside a glass-and-wood-enclosed house on the creek. There wasn’t a neighbor within two miles of us and the sound of rushing water mixed with the sway of leaves and their gentle scraping against one another, the windows, and the detached garage.

Dane stepped through the double doors and took my bag from Amano. “That’ll be all for the evening. Thank you.”

Amano turned my way. “Take care.”

“You, too.”

Dane ushered me into his gorgeous home, lit by streaks of lightning in the clouds and candles in tall hurricane lamps.

“That’s some dress,” he said as his arms slipped around my waist from behind and he left featherlight kisses along my throat that made me melt.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect. You weren’t very specific.”

“That’s because all I could think about was you naked.”

I resisted the urge to turn in his arms and demand he take me to his bedroom. Though that desire wasn’t easily dismissed.

I said, “You do intend to feed me, right?”

“Greek salad with chilled prawns already prepared. Chef D’Angelo says it’s your favorite.”

“Yes, and he toys with me by not making it a regular menu item. Total hit or miss as to when it’s available. Makes me crazy.”

Dane chuckled sexily. “Consider it on the menu whenever you want it.”

“Thank you.” A nice perk that came with being in the boss’s bed.

He directed me to a great room, with a tall fireplace at one end and a wall of floor-to-ceiling bookcases at the other end, with a sliding ladder attached to a metal railing. Tables, chairs, sofas, and coffee tables were scattered in between. The enormous windows and glass doors showcased the forest and creek beyond a vast patio. All amazingly beautiful.

I said, “This is exactly the sort of place I’ve dreamed of. But creekside property for sale is rare in this village—and when it does appear on the market, the prices are astronomical.”

“I bought this house last year through a private sale,” he said. “I had Sotheby’s contact the owners. Made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

“Why am I not surprised? I suspect you make those offers frequently.”

He didn’t bother to respond.

There was a low flame in the hearth and more candles lit all around the room, casting shadows in the corners and flickering illumination across the stone floor. It was every bit the darkly alluring fairy tale I’d had no idea I believed in. As I surveyed the expensive-looking vases and artwork, I noted there wasn’t a single framed photo of Dane—or of anyone, for that matter.

“Not big on selfies?” I quipped.

“I’m not one to collect mementos like that. They’re mostly all committed to memory.”

I couldn’t argue the point without being a hypocrite. I’d never been the sentimental type myself.

My fingers brushed over a lovely glass pitcher. Then I stood before an artistically crafted table that not only fit the eclectic array of furniture and knickknacks but also stole my breath.

“This is so pretty,” I said of the Parisian bistro set.

“It’s new. Well,” he amended, “new for me. It’s from Napoleon’s Fontainebleau palace. The collection was recently at auction—Marie Antoinette had tea at that table.”