Burned Deep by Calista Fox Page A

thought again of its warning, the potential for it to truly be an omen. Though I fought that odd notion tugging at me. Monsoons were unpredictable and they could be mild and last two weeks or torrential and last two months. Total crapshoot.
    Not an omen, Ari.
    Curling up on the sofa that faced the patio doors and the golf course beyond, I dragged the throw from the back of the couch and draped it over my bare legs.
    â€œMy dad got me into hockey,” I said, “when Gretzky coached the Phoenix Coyotes. He never missed a game on TV. He and Gretzky played a pro-am tourney together. That’s when I met him.”
    â€œBryce DeMille is your dad—I read that in the bridal magazine feature. I’ve seen him on ESPN. He had a very promising career.”
    â€œAnd a bad shoulder.”
    â€œHe’ll like the courses at the Lux.”
    â€œI haven’t said yes yet.”
    â€œBut you will.”
    I couldn’t help the smile. “Okay. You win.”
    â€œI had every intention of winning.” The dark tinge around those words made me fear them even more than before. “Now, tell me what kind of panties you’re wearing.”
    I gasped. Not so much at his demand, but at the way he so deeply aroused me.
    Still, I hedged, fighting for at least a tiny patch of safe ground. “You’re not seriously asking a new employee about her underwear.”
    â€œNo. I’m asking you .”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause I want the visual, damn it.”
    I sighed. He had lust flashing through my body with such little effort on his part. I was so out of my league with him, but I felt the tether. I felt the tug as he pulled me slowly to his side. Even my convictions couldn’t anchor me to that safe patch I’d sought.
    â€œI meant, why me?”
    He was quiet again. I wondered if I exasperated him, but then he said, “I can’t really explain it. You came through the door of the bar at the resort and my papers flew off the table. It was like … a silent call, grabbing my attention when it was so set on business. I watched you cross to your wedding party, every single thing about you instantly registering in my mind. Burning deep into my mind.”
    He let out a sexy, irritable sound—like he couldn’t quite figure out his own reaction to me. It sent heat waves along my skin.
    Continuing, he said, “Your hair, the sway of your hips, the way you carried yourself, those seriously gorgeous legs … I didn’t even get a good look at your face until you glanced over your shoulder, and yet I was hooked. And when you finally turned toward me … Christ. You stole my breath.”
    The air rushed from my own lungs. “I felt you staring at me. When Kyle was flirting.”
    â€œI didn’t like him moving in so close to you,” he admitted, his tone dark again. “I could see you were uncomfortable. You flinched—I didn’t like that he’d done that to you. The tat guy, either.”
    My eyes closed as fire flared. “Why did you step in?” More silence. His tension seeped into my soul. “Dane?”
    â€œI don’t want anyone else touching you, Ari. I thought I made that clear from the beginning.”
    â€œOh.” His words were jolting. He’d marked his territory from the onset?
    And how long did that branding last?
    I gnawed my lower lip as I considered how strong this undertow was, and whether I’d surface when it released me. Or—
    â€œTell me about your panties.”
    â€œYou can’t shift gears so fast, Dane. I’m not a Venom F5.”
    â€œNo shifting. I told you I wanted you the second I saw you. Tell me what I want to hear.”
    He was slightly infuriating but mostly irresistible. Impossible to deny. “Boy shorts. Pink lace.”
    A low growl filled the line. “Now I’m hard. I want to peel your shirt off.”
    My breasts felt instantly heavier, fuller.