Palm Springs Heat (10 page)

Clay lifted Lara’s leg and then
caressed it with his tongue down her thigh, past her knee, all the way to the
middle of her calf. It tickled a little, even with the water flowing over them.
Clay’s eyes shone through drops of water like golden light through the prisms
of a crystal chandelier. He propped the leg up on his shoulder, then retraced
the path his tongue had taken.

“Don’t let anything I’m doing down
here stop you from whatever you’re doing up there,” he said.

Losing herself in the moment, Lara
continued caressing herself—as much for her own benefit as for Clay’s. Her
elevator fantasy—with streams of water buffeting them—was coming to life. No
mirrors on the ceiling—but Lara saw their reflection in the glass wall, bathed
in dark light, engulfed in smoky shadows.

Clay stood up, pressed against Lara
and kissed her hard. Their tongues danced around each other’s, and as they
separated, Lara caught Clay’s lower lip between her teeth, releasing it with a
flick of her tongue.

They looked into each other’s eyes.
Clay moved his hips so that he teasingly nudged hers as he reached to a point
just behind Lara’s ear. Curious, Lara looked over her shoulder and saw Clay
reach into another cranny and pull out—a condom!

Lara’s mouth fell open.

“Comes with the room,” Clay said
matter-of-factly. “Compliments of the host.”

He ripped open the packaging with
his teeth, extricated the rubber and slipped it into place in one smooth
motion.

Very smooth. How many times has
he done that?

Lara didn’t have much time to ponder
the question as Clay eased her back onto the ledge. Then he eased himself into
her with slow, deliberate strokes. Not that Lara needed him to go slow, but she
appreciated his thoughtfulness.

Lara could feel the blood coursing
through his member. Or was that her own pulse? She couldn’t tell as they moved
and breathed in unison. Everything sped up. Clay slid his hands beneath Lara,
cupping her buttocks to pull her up and toward him with each thrust. Lara
stretched out her arms to anchor herself. The blood rushing in her ears drowned
out the roar of the shower. Her breathing got shallower until she could barely
inhale. And barely needed to.

Clay pushed into her as far as he
could go. They were moving at a hundred miles per hour—and then everything
suddenly stopped. For a moment, everything hung in suspended animation. Lara’s
whole body tensed. Her fingers dug into clefts in the rock.

And then torrents of pleasure
cascaded to every part of her body.

They let go simultaneously,
shuddered, then leaned against each other, panting, languid. The sound of the
waterfall returned.

Lara’s eyes fluttered open to meet
Clay’s gilded gaze.
A shower
was
a pretty good idea.

7

An hour later Lara lay on her side
on the vast bed, her naked skin drinking in the milky smoothness of the silk
sheets, Clay drawing circles on her shoulders with his fingers.
A girl could
get used to this.

“More Veuve Clicquot?”

Lara turned toward Clay.
A girl
could get used to this, too
. She kissed him. He tasted like pineapple and
champagne.

“It might be easier if I pour it
into a flute.”

“But not as much fun.”
Be
careful. Don’t have too much fun.

Clay turned to the remains of a
midnight
snack tray of fruit, cheese and exotic
crackers and refilled two flutes with bubbly. Lara took a sip and let it linger
on her tongue while she pondered the bottle’s unassuming—almost generic—yellow
label. Clay had assured her the Veuve Clicquot balanced power and delicacy
better than vintages that cost three times as much.

Sure beats Andre
.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Clay
said.

“Just one penny?”

“A million?”

“That’s still only ten thousand
dollars. How much did you pay for the car you bought today?”

“I withdraw all offers. Your
thoughts are priceless, anyways.”

Some of them, maybe.
“Okay.
I was wondering why there’s a nice selection of lingerie in that closet.”

“Some of my guests can be
impulsive.”

“The host, too?”

“Me? No. I never stay in this
room.”

“You don’t?”

“It’s reserved for good friends.”

“Tonight?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been
invited.”

Lara looked off to the side and
sipped her champagne.

“Like it?” Clay emptied the bottle
by topping off both of their glasses.

“I haven’t decided yet.” She took
another sip. “What was the other choice?”

“La Grand Dame Riva. I could have
some sent up.” He reached for his phone.

 “Don’t do that. There’s no
way we could finish it.”

“Who says we have to finish it?”

“You said it cost five hundred
dollars a bottle.”

“I have a whole case.”

“Maybe another time.”

Clay shrugged and put down the
phone.

“All this is kind of outrageous,”
Lara said. “Expensive wine. Indoor waterfalls in the middle of the desert. A
closet full of nighties.”

“I outdid myself on this room,”
Clay said without a hint of smugness.

“Everything’s pretty enough.”

“Something tells me there’s a ‘but’
coming.”

“But it’s kind of self-indulgent.”

“That’s the whole point of a place
like this.”

“It seems so wasteful.”

“Emphasis on
seems
.”

Lara gave him a prove-it look.

“All the stone,” he said, “every
bit of it, came from right here, onsite. All the wood is repurposed—some of
it’s from old-growth forests that were harvested in the 1880s. The way the
building’s set into the hillside—and the fact that every inch of glass is
insulated and polarized—means there’s no air-conditioning.”

“But, the fountains and the
waterfall...”

“The water’s recycled. Even the
stuff that evaporates.” He pointed to unassuming fixtures tucked away in the
shadows of the rafters. “Humidity collectors. We’ve lost only one percent of
the original water since we opened five years ago.”

“All the self-indulgence, none of
the guilt.”

“I like that. Maybe I should hook
you up with our ad people.”

“So, my thoughts turned out to be
worth a penny after all?”

“Absolutely. And I would shell out
a lot more to get inside your head and take a good look around.”

“What do you think you’d find?”

“Mysteries.”

“Like what? Secrets of my dark,
sordid past?”

“Oh, no. My security people will
take care of that.” His matter-of-fact tone gave Lara pause. “I’m talking about
being able to see what makes you think the things you think and do the things
you do.”

“If you could just somehow get
inside there and roam around a little, you’d be able to figure that all out?”

“Probably not.”

“Then what would be the point?”

“You’re right. It’s better not to
know everything about someone. If you did, you might not want to know them
anymore.”

Oh, shit. Just stay cool.
Lara turned back onto her side so Clay couldn’t see her face. “You, um, you
hear about people having ‘a meeting of the minds.’”

“Yeah, but how much do you really
know? I mean, take Sushma and me. We’ve got a meeting of the minds about how to
run Fast Lane. But it’s all about business. We come to work, do our jobs, go
home at night.”

Clay had made circles on Lara’s
shoulder again, but now he rolled onto his back.

“My dad had a passion for this
business. He tried to instill that in me—really wanted me to have what he had.
I guess it just wasn’t in my genes. He drove this place with his heart. I was
in over my head.”

Lara rolled over to look at Clay.
He looked at the ceiling.

“By the time Shush came along, Fast
Lane had missed the curve and was heading for the wall. She proposed all kinds
of things I never heard of—I still don’t know what they all were. But I had a
feeling she could turn things around. And she did. But for all the work we’ve
done together, I really don’t know much about her.”

He looked at Lara. “All business.”

Lara made circles on his shoulder.
“That conversation I heard in the lobby was ‘all business’?”

“She’s gotten this reputation as
the mother hen of Fast Lane. But she’s more like a surrogate dad. To me, at
least. A cool dad you can joke around with.”

I tried to get that out of a
husband. Big mistake.
“I never heard anyone talking with their father the
way you talk to Shushma.”

“Soosh-ma.” Clay chuckled. “I call
her Shush because she can be, well, a little excitable. I’m the only person in
the world who can get away with that.”

“She did sound pretty angry.”

“It drives her crazy when I go off
the radar like I did today.”

“Couldn’t she just call you on your
company-issue phone?”

“I turned it off.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to be interrupted—I
didn’t want us to be interrupted.”

Clay turned toward Lara. Her heart
beat faster.
Those eyes.

“She’s kind of afraid of you, you know,”
Clay continued.

“Of
me
?” Lara felt a flash
of panic. She sat up and turned away. “Why would she be afraid of
me
?”

“You came out of nowhere. She
doesn’t know anything about you, and that scares her. Knowledge is power, and
if she doesn’t know anything about you, she feels like she’s not in control.”

“What does she think there is to
know?”

“It’s S.O.P, that’s all. I’m a
brand. What I do affects people’s lives. At least, that’s what Shush tells me.
Over and over. I’m not so good at, you know, the details, so I employ other
people who are. Everything—and everyone—has to check out.” He sat up and put a
hand on her shoulder. “You’re not intimidated by that?”

“Oh, no!” Lara looked at him over
her shoulder. “A little, I guess.”

“I forget. I grew up in a fishbowl,
so I hardly notice it.”

Fishbowl. How easy would it be
for someone to link me to Gina?
“What is she trying to find out about me?”

 “The usual stuff. If you have
a criminal record. A history with any terrorist organizations or cults. Ties to
some competitor, maybe a tell-all media organization. You can’t be too careful
about corporate sabotage. Some companies will do just about anything.”

“You don’t sound too worried.”

“It’s not my job to be worried.”

“What
is
your job?”

“My job is to be Clay Creighton.”
He kissed his way from one of Lara’s shoulders to the other.

Oh, my god…is he on the clock
right now?

Clay stopped abruptly. “Oh! You
have marks from the car!”

“I have what?”

“Do they hurt?”

“Do
what
hurt?”

“I know just the thing.” Clay
sprang from the bed and bounded to the basket of lotions and creams next to the
hot tub. Lara craned her neck but couldn’t see any marks, so she felt around
with her fingers.

“Uh…uh. Don’t irritate it.” Clay
sat close to Lara and rubbed a velvety salve onto her back. “Feels good,
right?” he said. “Soothing.”

Since Lara hadn’t even known about
the marks, there wasn’t really anything to soothe. But she didn’t mind Clay
doing what he was doing.

8

The second lovemaking session with
Clay had begun with him, as he had said, being himself. Which meant, as far as
Lara could tell, “irresistible,” “charming,” “attentive” and more of a man than
she had ever experienced. It began with the cream and the kisses and ended up
with her on her back with Clay more or less nailing her to the mattress. She
hadn’t experienced that since the second year of her seven-year marriage. Maybe
even the first.

Like falling off a bike—except
that if falling off a bike felt so good, people would do it on purpose.
Afterward, though thoroughly spent after the day in the sun and the evening
with Clay, Lara found it difficult to sleep. Lying in the dark with Clay
pressing against her, his breathing rhythmic and deep, and hearing nothing but
the waterfall’s murmur, Lara mulled over the many ways in which Clay had
surprised her.
Is there a soul somewhere beneath those ripped abs and that
infectious smile?

Still, casting a pall over
everything was this business of The Rotation. If Clay did, indeed, have a soul,
what darkness in his character allowed him to indulge himself in such a
travesty?

Black and white tigers. A supercar
that could go two hundred miles per hour. Sex in a waterfall. A glass bedroom.
The waterfall. Expensive champagne.

The waterfall.

Eventually, the waterfall and exhaustion
won out. The next thing Lara heard was a phone ringing.

* * *

It was Clay’s. Still not fully
awake, Lara looked at him and blinked. Clay mouthed one word: “Chartre.”

“Ask when’s a good time.”

“When’s a good time? He says now.”

“
Now
?” Lara sat up and held
the sheet in front of her chest.

“I don’t think she’s on the same
page. What’s this all about, calling at this ungodly time of day? Oh. He says
you had an appointment.”

Now Lara was fully awake. “I
thought the appointment was for ten.”

“He says it is ten.”

There was a knock on the door to
the suite.

“And now someone’s at the door?”

“That would be Chartre.”

“What?”

“Right outside the door.”

“Tell him to come back!”

Clay winced. “Ooh. You do not want
to break a date with Chartre.”

The knocking grew more insistent.
Lara jumped out of bed, yanking the sheet along with her. “But I have to…” She
fussed with her hair in the reflection of the glass wall.