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Dane finally spoke. “I want an answer by five o’clock on Monday.”
I glanced at him, taking in the hard set of his jaw and the steel determination in his eyes, rimmed with lust. My stomach fluttered.
“For which?” I asked, a bit breathless.
“For both.”
“Dane.” Nervous exhilaration shimmied through me. “You can’t put a time line on—” I shook my head. This was all happening so fast. He was certainly determined—and obviously willing to press my hand.
A scowl canted his mouth, as it had in the bar when he’d rescued me. The same expression that darkened his features and made him even more mesmeric. I wanted to be alone with him even though that had already proved dangerous. I wanted Brandon to disappear so I could stand there and breathe in Dane along with the rain-scented air.
Desire was such a tricky beast, such a double-edged sword. I wanted him, but I didn’t want to want him. It was cruel, really. Painful.
I tore my gaze from his and headed to the Jag, Brandon falling into step with me. I slipped into the vehicle and tried to still my frenzied insides. A worthless effort. The car pulled away, circled the mammoth waterfalls, and started down the long drive. I turned in the seat and stole a look out of the back window.
Dane stood just outside the main doors, beneath the slight overha
ng of 10,000 Lux, as the downpour turned violent and lightning streaked the sky. He remained there as we turned the bend.
Watching me go.
* * *
“You should be practicing your chipping and pitching,” my dad said as I joined him on the driving range of the private club where he worked.
I dropped my bucket of balls on the ground, whipped out a tee, and stabbed it into the damp earth. I grabbed a driver and whacked the hell out of three balls before I said, over my shoulder, “Chipping and pitching take thought and concentration.” Teeing off helped to relieve sexual tension. Granted, I could spend a week at this and I’d be just as wound up as I had been from the moment I’d laid eyes on Dane Bax, but still. It felt good to assert myself.
“Something wrong?” my dad asked, concern lacing his tone.
“Not really. Just a lot on my mind.”
“Humph.” He went back to working on an already perfect swing, stopping about ten minutes later to say, “You’ve really improved over the past few years. We should get out more frequently.”
“We golf twice a week, Dad. And then spend Sunday morning here.”
“I was just saying.”
With a laugh, I asked, “Is that guy-speak for ‘I’d like to see you more often’?”
“Something like that.”
If it were anyone else I was talking to, I’d suggest he find himself a girlfriend. But that was a volatile subject, so I avoided the land mine. “Chances are, I’m about to be busier than before,” I warned.
“Oh?”
I stepped away from the tee and faced him. “Have you heard anything about 10,000 Lux?”
“Sure. It’s created quite the buzz around here. Five golf courses by the best designers, including Nicklaus and Engh. Member fees are through the roof—too rich for my blood.”
I smiled, about to make his day. “You might get to golf there for free.”
His head snapped up from his shot and he speared me with a look. “You win the lottery?”
My dad never messed around when it came to playing world-class courses.
With a noncommittal shrug, I said, “Not exactly. Well, sort of, but not in the traditional sense. I met the owner of the resort. He offered me a job.”
My dad whistled under his breath. “At 10,000 Lux? You realize it’s featured in all the national golf magazines?”
