Palm Springs Heat (8 page)

Lara looked out the window. The
colors that looked so amazingly distinct before now blew past in a blur.

“Your dad sounds like the kind of
guy I’d like to meet,” Clay said.

 “Oh, um…he died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it was a long time ago. When I
was in high school.”

“Yeah, but it’s still a big thing.
You two had something special.”

“I didn’t mean to turn this into a
downer. I have lots of great memories. Probably more than most people. In his
last few months, we’d just sit together and watch NASCAR. Sometimes not talking
for hours.”

They fell silent.

“You know, that’s a great thing,
just sitting and watching sports with someone,” Clay finally said. “Most women
don’t understand how men can watch sports together without saying a thing, and
then insist it was a great bonding experience.”

“Anyway,” Lara said, “you have a
destination in mind, or are we just out cruising?”

“I thought we’d hit the salt flats
near Whitewater, north of Bonnie Bell. We can put this baby through its paces
there.”

“Salt flats? Let’s do it.”

* * *

At Bonnie Bell, Clay exited the
freeway and drove into a canyon that opened into the broad, flat bowl of a
dried-up lake.

“I never knew about this place.”

“Not a lot of people do.”

There wasn’t a soul in sight. Just
white crust and gray-brown mountains.

Clay stopped the car. The engine
purred. “Okay,” he said, “here goes nuthin’.”

Clay flicked the paddle shifter on
the steering wheel and let the clutch snap. Lara felt like she’d been shot from
a gun. The car was a sensual cornucopia. G-forces pressed her into the seat.
The pistons wailed. She tasted salt on her tongue. The tachometer flickered as
it tickled the red zone—nine-thousand rpm—each time Clay shifted.

As the car screamed past ninety
mph, Lara closed her eyes and imagined they were on the verge of flying. And
then
Clay deposited the car into sixth and jammed the accelerator to the floor.
Forces and decibels multiplied, and in a blink of an eye, they were doing
one-ninety-three.

Lara checked the side-view mirror.
It occurred to her that she should be frightened by the sight of dust billowing
behind them. But as the ride pushed into atmospheres Lara had never
experienced, she felt stimulated in new ways.

Clay slammed the brakes. The car
decelerated rapidly but smoothly as he steered it into a perfect one-eighty,
easing up on the brake a touch at the end to bring the car to a stop as soft
and gentle as a silk baby blanket.

“Wow!” Lara exclaimed.

“Ready?”

“For what?”

“To take your turn.”

Lara’s jaw dropped. “I can’t—”

But Clay had already turned off the
engine, bounded from the vehicle and zipped around to open Lara’s door.

“Can’t what?” he said, reaching in
to help her climb out.

“You had to apply just to get the
car.” Clay had already guided her halfway around to the driver’s side.

“I gave them their money. I can do
whatever I want with it.”

“What if I…?” Lara dug in her heels
as she peered into the supercar’s cockpit.

“What?”

“Crash!”

“Look around.” Clay spread his arms
wide. “What’re you going to hit? A mountain?”

Like that’s not possible.

Lara eased into place behind the
semicircular wheel. Leather trim made the curved top feel alive; the
squared-off bottom looked like something out of
Star Wars.

Clay jumped into the passenger seat
and buckled his seat belt. “Okay. Let’s see what she’s got.”

Me—or the car?

“But I’ve never driven anything
like this before,” Lara said.

“You went to all those races.”

“And sat in the stands.”

“Just have fun. It’s the only
reason a machine like this exists.”

Easy for you to say.

Lara checked the mirrors and
nervously opened and closed her fingers on the steering wheel.

“Really,” Clay said, “it’s not much
different than whatever you normally drive.”

Yes, it does have an engine and
four wheels—just like my crappy Taurus.

“You haven’t seen what I normally
drive.”

“It’s got an engine and four
wheels. Just give the engine some gas and point the wheels where you want them
to go.”

Another of her dad’s isms.

“Um, these things…” Cringing at the
thought of sounding like a dumb girl, Lara pointed to the paddle shifters on
either side of the steering wheel.

“You can use the stick if you
want.”

“I’m a little out of practice.”

“No problem.” Clay pressed a button
on the console and a knob rose into view, as if they were in a James Bond
movie. Clay turned the knob until it pointed to the word “Auto.”

“That should work.”

Lara nodded as she depressed the
starter switch. The car howled to life. Just tapping the gas pedal made it
growl like an animal. An animal she controlled—she hoped. She gripped the wheel
and stroked the leather. She took a deep breath and shifted the transmission to
drive. A mere touch on the accelerator launched them like a rocket across the
hard valley floor.

Lara remained cautious for the
first few thousand feet. But even as it approached ninety, the car seemed to
flow over the terrain. Smooth. Steady.

Okay so far.

“How’s it feel?”

Great not to be in Junkerland
for a change.
“It almost drives itself.”

“Give yourself more credit than
that. You’re going one-forty.”

One-forty?

Lara wouldn’t have believed it, but
there it was on the digital display. She battled an impulse to yank her foot
off the gas as she edged from exhilaration to ecstasy. She was Lara the Brave,
living life, doing new things and liking it. She jammed the pedal almost to the
floor, and the booster rockets kicked in. A new sensation, but she still felt
in control.

Of the car. Of the situation. Of
life in general.

The walls of the valley loomed
closer with each passing second. Lara eased up on the gas and let the car
cruise before applying the brake and bringing the car to a stop.

“All right!” Clay said. “You sure
you never drove a vehicle like this before?”

“I never imagined.”

“Want to try another setting?”

Lara looked at the selector knob,
but she clutched the wheel too tightly to let go.

Clay grabbed the knob. “You’ve
already done automatic. There’s sport, normal and wet.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Pick one,” Clay said. “We’ll find
out.”

Clay’s confidence gave Lara the
confidence to focus more closely. “We’re in the middle of the desert. What if…”

She twisted the knob to “wet” and
gave Clay a matter-of-fact look.

“Why not?” Clay said. “This used to
be a lake.”

Lara looked over the tops of her
sunglasses as she turned the knob to “sport.” She palmed the floor shifter,
licked her lips and pumped the gas pedal. The engine roared. The tachometer
raged red. Lara let the clutch fly, initiating a new launch.

Dust filled the rear-view, only
this time Lara had no doubts about how she should feel.

“So, how do you do a one-eighty?”

Clay provided a ten-second how-to.
Lara dug her nails into the leather on the wheel as she mentally prepared for
the maneuver. Then she stomped on the brake and forced the car into a skid. She
almost overdid it, but her instinct to ease up just a tad corrected their
course. The car spun around, ending up facing the way they had come.

Clay let out a whoop.

Lara’s heart pounded as she ripped
off her shades. “That was fucking awesome!” She put a hand over her mouth.

“I guess so, to warrant another
F-bomb.” Clay moved her hand away and kissed her.

* * *

Clay’s lips were firm. He had not
shaved, and Lara enjoyed the bristly feel on her cheeks. Clay tasted somewhat
salty, too, a reminder of where they were at the moment.

But is it THE moment?

It seemed they were heading toward
it.
This is a good thing. This is the plan.
Still, Lara found herself
looking down when their lips parted. Not to be demure. She was straining to
stay cool. To avoid revealing what was going on in her head—and other parts of
her body.

Clay broke the silence. “Well.”

“Yes. Well.”

Clay’s hand dropped from Lara’s
face to her thigh, warming her leg as he stroked it through the thin cotton.

“This is getting to be a much more
exciting day than I had originally planned,” Clay said.

“What was your original plan?” Lara
could feel his gaze, but still averted her eyes.

“Pick up a car. Drive around.”

He kissed her neck. Right below the
ear.
Ah, yes
. Lara closed her eyes and tilted her head back to make it
easier for him. She felt herself sinking. Willingly. Into the car seat’s
embrace. Into a spell. Into the dark corners of her mind. Clay moved his hand
along the curve of her hip to her waist.

Lara exhaled and sank even deeper.
“What is your plan now?”

Clay tugged on the seat belt and grunted.
“Tight fit in here,” he said.

Watching as Clay’s elbow bumped
first the shifter, then the steering wheel, then the head rest, Lara could see
things weren’t likely to go much further in this setting.

Maybe the hood…

“I think we need a little space,”
she said.

Clay nodded and extricated himself
from the cabin. Lara watched from her side of the car as he stretched out a
charley horse in his shoulder.

“So, are you coming over here, or
do I have to come over there?” he said with a sneaky smile.

“We could meet halfway,” Lara
responded, mimicking his look.

She nonchalantly moved forward to
rest her arms on the foxy rake of the LFA’s roof. But the blazing sun had
cooked the steel there as hot as a stovetop, making Lara’s next maneuver—a
spastic recoil accompanied by a pitiful yelp—anything but nonchalant.

She rubbed her arms where they’d
been scorched by the searing metal.

Clay zipped to her aid. “Are you
okay?”

“Oh, geez, it’s just a little—”

She couldn’t even finish the
sentence before Clay grunted.

“What’s wrong?”

Clay rubbed a spot under his arm.

“Nothing…”

“No, what?”

He pushed gingerly between two
ribs. “It’s stupid. I wasn’t paying attention and banged into the door.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Forget it. Let me have a look here.”
Clay lifted Lara’s arms so he could see the underside of her wrists. “Doesn’t
look so bad.”

“Oh, now you’re a doctor?”

“No. And I don’t play one on TV,”
Clay said. “But this much I know: Scientific studies show that simply touching
any part of a woman is good for a man’s health. Elevates his heart rate.”

“Fascinating. But who’s the
patient?”

“Good question.” Clay kissed Lara
on one wrist, then the other. Then he continued kissing her arm all the way to
her shoulder.

Feeling better already...

Lara took a deep breath. Clay moved
closer until his body pressed against hers. And then pressed her body against
the gutter that ran along the roofline above the car door, giving Lara a clear
notion of what it must feel like to be branded. She jerked forward, ramming
Clay’s nose with her shoulder.

“Omigod! I’m so sorry!”

Clay’s lips moved, but his face was
clenched so tightly that no words came out.

“Are you bleeding?”

“No—no. Just a little bump.” Clay
opened his eyes as far as he could in an attempt to illustrate his point. “See?
Good as—”

He sneezed.

Lara yelped again.

“That was suave.” Clay daubed
Lara’s cheek with his sleeve. “I’ll have to add that to the Pit Stop Blog: ‘How
not to blow it by sneezing on your date.’”

Lara burst out laughing. “It is a
fun car, but it’s got its drawbacks.”

“I’ll use that line in my review.”

Lara stopped laughing when she saw
a dime-size spot of blood on Clay’s shirt. “You
are
hurt.”

The sight of the crimson circle
only made Clay laugh harder. “I’ve been going through a lot of shirts since I
met you.”

Lara gave him a playful push. “So I
guess it doesn’t hurt?”

“Pain’s all in the head,” Clay
said. “And right now, I’m focused on other things.”

He put his hands on Lara’s hips and
drew her to him. She put her hands on his shoulders and turned her head to
accommodate his kiss. But just as she closed her eyes, her upper arm grazed
that damned branding iron of a gutter.

“Fuck!”

Clay looked stunned. Lara turned
red.

“Oh, my,” she said. “Another
F-bomb. Not particularly ladylike.”

“What
is
the ladylike
reaction to being burned by a car roof?” Clay checked out Lara’s elbow. “Looks
red. Maybe we—

“Should go somewhere else?”
Oh,
my god—too far! I mean, how obvious?

“Good idea,” Clay said. “I know a
place.”

6

Clay drove back to the 10, but instead
of heading toward L.A., he took the
eastbound ramp toward Palm Springs.

A good sign.

Palm Springs
was home to Clay’s infamous Heat resort. The suites had names like Coyote,
Arroyo, Chollo and Casino, where, according to legend, Fast Lane guaranteed
well-heeled male guests they would get lucky.

“Shouldn’t we be going the other
way?” she said.

“Depends on where you’re trying to
end up.”

The Casino Room?
Lara didn’t
say anything. She didn’t want to jinx anything by talking too much.

And then there was the scenery. The
sun dipped behind the mountains, turning them purple. Even in the ebbing luster
of daytime, the desert was a feast of colors and textures. Lights sparkled in
the distance, and then silhouettes of palm trees and stately buildings appeared,
etched into the deepening blue of the cloudless sky.