Burned Deep (3 page)

I examined the plates and flatware to make sure they were all polished. Found two more glasses with smudges. A few napkins with slightly tattered edges. Votives that needed to be replaced. The staff rushed about, adjusting everything to my specifications.

I wasn't obnoxiously OCD. People paid me good money to ensure every little detail was taken care of and that their event was extraordinary and memorable. I owed it to them to have the food and wine served on time. To make sure no one waited for plates to be cleared from in front of them. To keep servers on their toes so they delivered another fork to a guest before the first one even hit the floor.

My painstaking attention to all facets of the process from start to finish was also born of the incessant need to occupy every waking second of my day and keep my mind on all things fresh and new and awe-inspiring—like the symbolism that weddings and other events evoked. I put substantial effort into stepping away from the pain wrapped around my parents' hostile, failed marriage and the inevitable suffering that came from being an only child caught in the cross fire.

Around the last ten or so minutes of the cocktail hour, the sky conspired against me and opened up. The deluge began. A few fat drops served as a prelude before the heavy shower hit. Everyone scrambled to get into the lodge as I urged them off the patio. Three-pronged lightning flashed wildly and the crack of thunder eclipsed the crashing of cymbals as the band's equipment was hastily moved to the foyer.

A harsh wind roared through the terrace while I rushed about with the staff, collecting vases of flowers and hurricane lamps containing pillar candles—now blown out by the gust, the smoky scent wafting on the night air. A couple tipped over. The one I reached for flew off the table.

The shattering of glass on the Saltillo tile lent to the suddenly eerie atmosphere and the sense of urgency to gather everything up. Kyle jumped into the mayhem, snatching decorations quicker than I could and adding them to a service cart. Strands of hair slashed across my face as the undercurrent gained strength.

“Get inside, Ari!” he shouted.

“This is my job!” I insisted as more jagged bolts lit the night. “You're a guest.
You
get inside!”

“Yeah, right. And leave you out here?” He rounded up the last of the arrangements and all but dragged me into the lodge. We set everything off to the side with the gift table.

My breath labored from the scurrying around—and how close the lightning had struck.

The guests remained dry, thankfully, and incredulous conversations over how fast and furious the tempest had hit were in full swing.

Meghan hurried over, delicately holding up the hem of her gown. “Ari, you're drenched!”

She dropped one side of her fluffy skirt and snatched a clean linen napkin from a high-top table set up specifically in the event the rain didn't hold off until dinnertime. She handed the napkin over and I dabbed at my cheeks and throat while my pulse raced.

“You were so right about the monsoons,” she said, contrite. “But at least we got through the ceremony and almost all of the reception. Everything's just gorgeous, Ari!”

“I'm glad it worked out—for the most part.”

She waved her manicured hand in the air as she was prone to do. “It's all fabulous. Exactly what I wanted. Well, with the exception of you getting soaked.”

“It was worth it. We salvaged just about all of the arrangements.”

Meghan had asked me previously to make sure the florist returned for the bouquets at the end of the evening and distributed them to hospices and funeral homes to brighten someone else's day. I thought that was a beautiful gesture.

She leaned forward as though to hug me. My hand jerked up to ward her off.

“Don't you dare,” I hastily said, “or you'll ruin your dress.” I wouldn't have minded the friendly bit of affection coming from her but I feared spoiling her gown. “You need to get upstairs so dinner can start. And I need to find some towels.”

Sean came for her and I turned to Kyle, who was shaking off the rain from his jacket. He gave up and slipped out of it. He raked a hand through his hair and managed to appear dashing despite his slightly unkempt appearance. The wet look totally worked for him.

“Thanks for the save,” I said.

“Had to redeem myself, right? I didn't exactly get to be the hero in the bar.”

“You really weren't given a chance.” It was unfortunate that I couldn't release the image from my mind of the man who
had
been the hero. Albeit a reluctant one. His scowl had spoken volumes.

Kyle told me, “I'd offer you my jacket but it's no drier than your own clothes.”

“I'll be fine.”

“What else can I do to help?”

I laughed softly. “I think you've earned your wings, by a lot. You'd better get going, anyway. Formal introductions are about to be made.” According to my careful planning.

“You'll save me a dance, right? Or a few?”

His sudden mega-watt grin was contagious, despite my mind being elsewhere. “I'm the wedding planner, remember? Here to work. But you … Go. Have fun. Enjoy. Eat too much cake.”

I tried to shoo him off with a wave of my hand. He lingered a moment or two, as though he had something else to say. He really was very sweet. Valiant. I liked him, no doubt. But didn't want to lead him on. So I was relieved when he spun around and sauntered off, heading to the second floor.

I ducked into the bathroom and used a few plush hand towels to dry my skin and the ends of my hair. I ran one over my blouse and skirt to sop up the drops of water. I couldn't wring out the garments or the material would rumple miserably. I was stuck with moist, clinging clothes because the gift shop was already closed and I hadn't brought a spare outfit. Lesson learned there.

Thus, I kept to the periphery as I made sure the dinner service went off without a hitch. Finally, I consulted with the DJ, who'd take over from this point.

Sometimes I hung around to watch the dancing, because brides and their families typically asked me to celebrate with them, and tonight was no exception. But I was exhausted, having pulled off this particular wedding in such a short, frenzied period—an emotional time, what with the tension gripping everyone over the impending Mrs. Aldridge's delicate condition and concern that the news would ignite a scandal for the high-society Delfinos.

Not to mention all the drama created by the inclement weather and the men I'd encountered this evening. I'd be out like a light when I got home. Looked forward to a sound night's sleep, instead of waking up ten times to run through my mental checklists.

I'd also caught Kyle stealing glances my way, and I really hated the idea of turning him down again. Clearly, he was a good guy. Much more on par with where my interests
should
lie—rather than with the magnetic stranger, so intriguing and darkly gorgeous. Primed to come to my rescue—

I shook my head. I definitely shouldn't think about him.

After delivering congratulations and good-byes, I went downstairs to the lobby of the main lodge, a log structure that belonged in the mountains of Aspen, but which stunned visitors as it sat nestled in this artistic canyon. The two-story windows highlighted an inspirational landscape that left one speechless the first, tenth, and one-hundredth time they admired the view. Even more so tonight, as they showcased a spectacular display of purple-and-gold lightning veins rippling across the clouds.

I passed through the tall double doors and was greeted by a valet.

“Another happily ever after, Miss DeMille?”

“What a lovely way to put it, Alex. And yes, I think the newlyweds have a very pleasant future ahead of them.”

Envy seeped through my veins, but I ignored the sensation. It happened on occasion. Was to be expected, I surmised. I was twenty-six years old, with very few friends—really just a handful of people who knew me from the weddings I worked with them. I dated every now and then, but trying to build my rep as the “It” event planner in the Southwest kept me busy.

I had a very specific goal in mind, a career I was devoted to, one I was completely immersed in and was already plotting to take to the next level. That hadn't exactly panned out for me yet, but I remained diligent. So much so, I'd developed an eagle eye for details, could anticipate needs before expressed, was thoroughly aware of my surroundings so that very few wayward scenarios took me by surprise.

But
he
did.

 

chapter 2

I sensed his presence a breath too late, so that he was standing next to me before I had the chance to sidestep him. Put a few feet between us. My body tensed.

“Did I startle you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I admitted. It was both unnerving and enticing that he noticed so much about me. It wasn't something I was accustomed to.

“My apologies.” His voice was that warm timbre that ribboned through me.

I turned to face him, the devilish stranger. The dark, mesmerizing man who had the potential to haunt my mind and plague my fantasies from this day forward. I used the word
plague
because I didn't need anyone specific hovering in the back of my brain when I conjured erotic images to enhance a quick go-round with my very straightforward, get-the-job-done vibrator.

I kept my fantasy men nameless and faceless—though that defense mechanism was probably shot to hell now that I'd gotten a glimpse of the
ultimate
fantasy man.

I didn't even delve into identities when I had the rare one-night stand—a term I used
very
loosely. Typically, it was someone I met at a hotel where I held an event, someone I'd never see again, would never run into at the grocery store. Men who were more than happy to indulge in spontaneous, impersonal sex. Mostly me bent over a desk or pressed up against a wall in their room. Always over within a concise amount of time. Then I shoved my thong and skirt into place and reached for the doorknob before they lobbed a “Maybe the next time I'm in town…?” my way.

Not appealing to everyone, but it worked fine for me. When you'd slipped into the role of loner because you'd spent so much time avoiding screaming parents, true intimacy was a foreign concept. I'd discovered it was best to limit physical contact. The less you knew of it, the less you craved it.

“Looks like you got caught in the rain,” the sexy stranger said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Occupational hazard.”

“That and getting hit on by groomsmen?”

I sighed. “That was all a bit bizarre.”

“I hope the jerk who grabbed you didn't leave a bruise.”

“It stung a little, but I'm okay.”

His jaw clenched, as though hearing I'd been hurt angered him. His irises actually darkened. “I should have taught that guy a lesson about keeping his hands to himself.”

The sharp intonation to his voice, the slightly gritty inflection, made the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end.

“Think you made your point loud and clear,” I said. “He got the picture.”

“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.