Palm Springs Heat (9 page)

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Clay asked.
“People think it’ll be like Vegas…lights flashing everywhere. Not that that’s a
bad thing, if you’re in the mood.”

The Heat sign came into view.

“So, where are we going?” Lara
said, playing innocent.

“Right over there.” Clay pulled
into the circle drive in front of the resort.

“A hotel? Come here often?”

“Yes, actually. I own it.”

“How handy.”

Clay stopped in front of the ornate
art deco entryway, sprang from the vehicle, danced over to Lara’s side and
nabbed the door handle just as the deeply tanned valet got there.

“Mr. C?”

“Ricky! How’s business this
evening?”

“You know. The usual.” Ricky looked
nervously over his shoulder toward the lobby. He turned pale when Clay opened
the car door for Lara.

Clay nodded toward the hotel. “I’m
betting everyone’s going to be surprised to see me.”

“Yes, sir. I think you would win
that bet.”

Clay discreetly produced a
hundred-dollar bill and handed it to Ricky. “Have fun parking this baby.”

“I think I will, sir. Quite a
beauty.”

“Yes, she is,” Clay said. “And the
car’s pretty hot, too.”

Smiling devilishly at Lara, he
crooked his arm. She clasped it, and together they headed inside.

* * *

The lobby was bigger than entire hotels
Lara had stayed in. Palatial, yet understated. Earth tones everywhere. And
glass—lots of it, creating the illusion that the inside of the building and the
landscape flowed seamlessly together.

Lara became aware of a growing
hubbub. A young woman and an older man in identical suits hustled toward them.

“Donald, Therese, how are you this
evening?”

“Very well, Mr. C,” Therese
responded. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“But now that I’m here, I’m sure
Sushma—” He was interrupted by the squawk of Therese’s phone.

“Yes, Ms. V, a few minutes ago.”
She held the phone out to Clay. “Ms. V would like to speak with you, sir.”

Clay took the phone and turned on
the speaker. “Hey. Nice evening.”

“Nice evening, my Brahmin ass. Now,
turn off that speaker.”

“But, Shush, I—”

“Do not ‘Shush’ me. Turn off the
speaker.”

“But, it would be rude—”

“I will be more than happy to
provide you lessons in the true meaning of the word ‘rude.’”

Clay looked at Lara and shrugged.
“Do you mind? My associate seems to be having issues.”

“You will be having my knee to your
balls if you do not turn off that speaker pronto!”

Lara threw up her hands in mock
resignation. “You’d better do what she says.”

“Be right with you, Ms. V.” Clay
turned off the speaker. “Donald and Therese, this is Lara Dixon. D and T are
two of my best. They’ll set you up while I take care of this. Is The Coyote
available?”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” Donald
answered, “but the Oasis…”

Therese looked as though she might
puke.

“Even better,” Clay said. He winked
at Lara and turned away.

Therese elbowed Donald in the ribs.
“Nice work, moron,” she whispered a little too loudly. “Maybe Ms. V should
apply her knee to
your
balls.”

Lara turned around, pretending not
to have heard. “So…the Oasis?”

“Yes, Miss Dixon,”
Therese said, suddenly congenial. “This is your first time here, yes?”

Lara knew that they would know if
she had been to Heat before. Under her own name, at least. The resort was
renowned as a haven where no questions were asked of familiar faces checking in
under not-so-familiar names, but Lara did not have a familiar face.

“Yes, actually, it is.”

“Excellent. I’m sure you’ll enjoy
the accommodations.”

“No doubt.”

“Please.”

Donald and Therese herded Lara
toward the gilded front desk—and then whisked past it and into a private elevator.

* * *

The Oasis Suite was the only room
more notorious than the Casino Suite. Reserved for elite guests. Movie stars.
Politicians. Super Bowl MVPs. And whoever accompanied them.

The décor had a Middle Eastern feel.
In the bedroom, one wall was made entirely of glass with no apparent curtains
or blinds. An exhibitionist’s paradise? Lara couldn’t see any lights shining in
the darkness outside. No buildings. No streetlights. No lines of cars. She
cupped her hands, pressed them against the window and looked through them like
binoculars, but she could barely discern the stark outlines of mountains.

And then she turned and
contemplated the waterfall.

At twelve feet tall, it towered
above the golden spider marble floor. It would have been imposing, but water
splashed soothingly from a highly believable-looking outcropping of rock onto a
ledge before spilling into a pool as big as a party-size Jacuzzi. Exotic plants
thrived in crevices and ledges.

Therese clicked off her phone as
she came into the bedroom from the living room. “Do you like it?”

“I don’t know how to describe—”

“It has that effect on people. Now,
about your luggage…”

“I don’t actually have any.”

“I see,” Therese said, not missing
a beat. “You’ll need toiletries and such. I’ll have a basket sent up. Do you
have any preferences? Soap? Shampoo? A certain line of makeup?”

“No, I’m easy.”
Nice word
choice.

Therese didn’t bat an eyelash. “Our
fashion concierge can get you outfitted for dinner.”

“You have a ‘fashion concierge’?”

“Of course.”

Just like that.
“I don’t
think that’ll be necessary.”

“I understand you’ve been to the
salt flats today.”

“How did you know that?”

Therese ran a finger over one of
the straps on Lara’s dress. It came up coated in white powder.

“Oh.”

“Actually, I was tipped off,”
Therese said. “It’s a close-knit corporation, and every employee is issued a
phone. Word gets around fast.”

Oh, my god, I’m swimming in a
fishbowl.
“Huh,” Lara said. “About the waterfall…”

“It’s a fully functioning shower
and hot tub.” Therese went up to the base. “The temperature controls are hidden
behind the ginger plant.”

Lara’s eyes scanned the waterfall.
Convenient.

“It’s the one with the pink stems
and green-and-white striped leaves,” Therese said. “The leaves look like
feathers, but it’s a tough plant. Just reach in.”

Lara nodded.

“There’s a nice selection of
sleepwear in the closet.” Therese threw open the closet door to reveal a
treasure trove of negligees, none of which looked conducive to sleep. “If you
don’t like anything here, the concierge can help you with that, too.”

“Great.”

“Any questions?”

Lara shook her head.

“Okay, then. Chartre will give you
a call.” Therese pronounced it Shar-tray.

“Chartre?”

“The fashion.concierge. Good night,
Miss Dixon.”

Therese turned to go. Lara looked
at the glass wall. “Actually, I do have one more question.”

Therese followed the line of Lara’s
gaze. “I know. It seems like you’re in a fishbowl. Believe me, you can see out,
but no one can see in. There’s not much of a view right now, but if you get
real close, you can just barely see the outline of the mountains.” She did what
Lara had done earlier, cupping her hands like binoculars on the glass. Lara did
it, too.

“So, no worries about taking a
shower?” Lara sounded unsure.

“No worries about taking a shower.
And if you’ve been to the salt flats, a shower’s a good idea.” Therese smiled
and left.

Lara studied the waterfall.
A
shower
is
a good idea.

* * *

Lara peeled the yellow dress from
her body, raising a cloud of white powder. Her skin had been scoured where
salty grit had become trapped in her bra and underwear. She started peeling
those off, too, but the gaping blackness of the massive window gave her pause.

She walked up to the window and
gave it a tap.
Therese said no one could look in. Why would she say it if it
wasn’t true?
Lara’s eyes traced the edges of the glass.
And what if it
wasn’t true?
Lara reached behind her and unclasped her bra. Be bold. Lara
slid the straps down over her arms and let the bra fall to the floor. She took
a deep breath.
Okay.
She tucked her thumbs into the elastic and pulled
her lacy hip huggers to her ankles. And then stepped out of them. Right there
in front of the window.

If anyone’s looking, I hope
they’re not disappointed.

Lara’s phone rang. It was Clay.

“Hey,” she said.

“What’s up?”

“Oh…nothing.”
Literally.

“Like the room?”

“It’s really something.”

“You know the waterfall’s a natural
outcropping of rock.”

“Really?” Lara stroked the rock. It
looked smooth, but felt grainy.

 “The very first time I
visited the site I knew it had to be incorporated into a room somehow.”

“But, the water…”

“That’s man-made.”

“The
water
is man-made?”

“There’s a pump.”

“I see.” Lara moved close enough to
touch the water. It was warm and smacked the back of her hand like rain.

“Any plans for tonight?”

Maybe.
“I apparently have an
appointment with your fashion concierge.”

“Ah, Chartre. You’ll like him.”

“Him?”

“Therese didn’t tell you?”

“It’s hard to tell from the name.”
Lara noticed a cache of downy towels tucked behind the ginger plant.

“How about dinner? In, say, fifteen
minutes?”

“What about Chartre?”

“You can meet with Chartre some
other time.”

“I don’t know if what I have on is
acceptable for dinner here.”

“Don’t worry. It’s a casual place.”

Lara discovered that two of what
she thought were towels were actually big fluffy robes. “Okay.”

“See you in fifteen.”

She held a robe up in front of her
and checked out her reflection in the wall of glass. “I’ll be here.”

* * *

The doorbell rang twelve minutes
later. Lara answered it wearing nothing but one of the big fluffy robes.

Clay raised an eyebrow. “Am I
early?”

“Actually, you’re right on time.”
Lara pulled him into the room, pressed him against the closed door and kissed
him deeply. He wore a clean, crisp shirt. His face was freshly shaven. He
smelled like he had just stepped out of the shower.

“Why would you think you’re early?”

“It’s just—is that what you’re
wearing to dinner?”

”More or less. You?”

Lara untucked Clay’s shirt and
undid the buttons. Clay smelled her hair and planted baby kisses in the line
where it parted.

The shirt hung open, revealing
Clay’s toned torso. In his blogs, Clay had encouraged men to emulate the build
of a wide receiver. Lara didn’t think she could tell the difference between a
wide receiver and a second baseman, but she certainly liked what she was
seeing. And touching. She undid the belt on the robe, pressed her bare chest
into Clay’s, and kissed him again.

“What about dinner?”

“I haven’t showered yet,” Lara said
as she headed toward the bedroom. “And we did spend that time at the salt
flats.”

She let the robe drop just as she
slipped through the door.

* * *

Lara dimmed the main lights and stepped
onto the naked rock beneath the waterfall. In the subtle glow of strategically
placed multicolored LEDs, with water splashing all around her, she felt as if
she was on display for Clay’s pleasure. An audience of one: It felt right.

She reached for a bottle of
shampoo, but her hand met Clay’s.

“That is a fine product,” he said,
“but I think this one will give your hair a more lustrous shine.” He held up a
clear bottle filled with a golden liquid that matched the amber sparkle in his
eyes.

The touch of his bare legs on hers.
His hand pressing lightly on the small of her back. The spotlights turning
rivulets of water into a deluge of glittering diamonds. Yes, this was the right
time. The right place.

“So, you’re a media mogul, a doctor
and
a hairdresser?”

“I’m not licensed as one, nor do I
play one on TV.” Clay dispensed a generous dollop of shampoo into his palm.
“But I have a feel for this kind of thing.”

He laced the rich lather into
Lara’s hair, starting at her brow and combing his fingers through her drenched
locks all the way to where they ended between her shoulder blades. As he softly
massaged her scalp, foam drizzled down Lara’s neck, shoulders and arms. When a
few errant bubbles drifted toward her eyes, Clay deftly deflected them.

“Disaster averted,” he said.

Lara turned to face him. “Good
idea, putting a waterfall in this room.”

They kissed as water danced all
over their bodies. Froth cascaded down Lara’s back, providing a sensuous
contrast to the relative roughness of Clay’s circling hands.

He pushed Lara against the rock and
kissed her neck, then her shoulders, then her breasts, circling the edge of one
nipple, then the other with his tongue. Lara shifted a little in hopes of
making it clear that more direct contact would be perfectly acceptable.

To her delight, he interpreted the
cue correctly.

Lara stroked Clay’s hair as he made
sure he gave each breast equal time. His hands traced the outlines of her body,
coasting from her ribs to her hips and back up again, until he grabbed her ass
firmly to lift her onto a ledge that quite conveniently stuck out from the
other layers of limestone.

And then he dropped to his knees.

Clay stroked Lara’s thighs as he
tenderly licked between her legs. The Fast Lane Rule of the Road No. 1 was to
make a woman feel like she’s the center of the universe, and, little by little,
Clay got closer and closer to the center of Lara’s. His intensity increased
along with her pulse rate and breathing. Lara absentmindedly let her hands roam
over her own body