Palm Springs Heat (16 page)

“Why? Do you want more?” Tiffany
tucked her boots and hose under one arm and typed a note on her phone.

“I was being facetious.”

“Oh.” Tiffany stopped typing. “Because,
I can get you more pillows.”

“No. These will be fine.”

Tiffany shrugged and put her phone
away. “So, the room is cool?”

“I like it very much.”

Tiffany picked up a remote from one
of the nightstands. “Well, in two seconds, you’re going to like it to death.”

She clicked a button and the blinds
opened to a sunset coloring the steel-green canvas of the sea incandescent
oranges and pinks.

With the touch of another button,
she made the glass door open. “Voilá! Your own private deck.”

Deck?

Each sunset gave Lara a deeper
appreciation of the romantic appeal of the city she had lived in all her life.
And she had wondered why that romance had so often seemed to be so maddeningly
out of reach. She went onto the deck and stood mesmerized. Many times in the past
two years she had watched the sun set from the top of the bluffs over Santa
Monica Bay,
staying until the last dazzling rays shone like a halo over Point Dume. Malibu.
And, now, me.

“Pretty decent,
no?”
Tiffany brushed the smooth wood of the deck with her feet.

“It’s just like in the song,” Lara
said.

“There’s a song about a deck?”

“No. The sunset.”

Tiffany joined Lara at the railing.

“The Doors song,
L.A. Woman
.”

“The Doors? Were they on Jimmy
Fallon last week?”

Lara laughed. “I
don’t think so. There’s a verse about how a woman’s hair looks like hills on
fire, like she’s standing in front of a sunset.”

 
“I can totally see that.”

They stood in silence for a few
moments and watched the explosion of color.

“Okay, so, I’m supposed to ask if
there’s anything you want brought here from your place in S.M.”

“What?”

“Ms. V said it’s cool. All the
girls do it.”

“That’s nice, but I don’t think—”

“It’s not like you’ll
need
anything. But maybe you’d like to, you know, personalize the space. Maybe you
have some beloved clothes? Or a favorite snuggly?”

“Snuggly?”

“A teddy bear or a dog. Or a big,
cushy walrus with googly eyes. Like that.”

 “A big, cushy walrus with
googly eyes?”

Tiffany nodded. “Like that.”

Lara turned back to the sunset.
“There’s so much here…I don’t think I’m going to miss anything back in ‘S.M.’
for a few months.”

“Or, like, your laptop? I could
arrange to have someone pick it up for you.”

My laptop? It does have my
research on it. But the last thing I need is anyone from Fast Lane…

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Are you sure? Because it’s no—”

Lara spun around. “I don’t need
it.”

It surprised even Lara how bitchy
she sounded, but paranoia was spreading through her like an infection. Could
all these compliments and banter about “snugglies” be Tiffany trying to lull
her into a false sense of security? Why did Taequanda always take her side?
Sushma
has me second-guessing everyone
.

“Okay, cool.” Tiffany poked at her
phone. “So, tomorrow, you can sleep in to, like, eight, if you want, and still
have time for a workout and breakfast.”

Tiffany’s nonchalance made Lara
feel even more off-balance.

“Um, okay.”

“Cool.”

Lara forced a smile. “Cool.”

Tiffany floated toward the door.

“Oh, and Tiffany?”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow, could you please wake me
up by calling me on my phone?”

“Gotcha, Miss D.”

* * *

Alone, Lara
became aware of how big a silence could be in the wake of a hurricane. Still,
the exchange with Tiffany and
L.A. Woman
buzzed in her mind.

Am I a lucky
lady? Or lost in a city of light?

 
The last ember of sun glowed the color of the
sparkle in Clay’s eyes. Lara leaned against the railing and looked at the rocks
so far below. The water now lapped lazily against the bluff.

Her phone rang.

Why at a moment like this?
Lara thought about letting the call go, then went inside to answer it.

It was Clay.

“Hi.”

“How was your day?”

“Kind of hectic. Yours?”

“Kind of hectic.”

“I’m guessing your days are always
hectic,” Lara said.

“I never showed up during the photo
shoots.”

“I noticed.” Lara tried to sound
more inquisitive than disappointed.

“Like you said: Things come up when
you run a major business enterprise.”

“But if
you’re
the one
running the enterprise, don’t
you
get to say when the plans change?”

“Sure, but…” Clay paused. “I
delegate.”

“You have people tell you where you
should go and when you should go there?” Lara went back onto the deck so she
could watch the colors fade from the sky.

“Frees me up to think about more
important things.”

“Such as?”

“You.”

“Ha! How often did you do that?”

“Just about, oh, once a minute.”

Lara batted her eyelashes. “And
what, specifically, were you thinking once every minute?”

“I was wondering, ‘How’s Lara doing
on her own with all those sharks?’”

How many sharks?
“You mean
Spike? He’s more of a guppy.”

“You had Taequanda on your side.”

Gulp.
“Someone told you?”

“No one told me anything. Those two
are so predictable, like an old married couple. He practically begged to have
his ass kicked, and she was happy to oblige. Am I right?”

“That’s a pretty dim view of
marriage.”

“Why? Don’t we all need someone
who’s happy to kick our ass, keep us honest?”

Lara laughed self-consciously and
brushed the luxurious pile of the robe with her free hand.

“Spike’s a good photog,” Clay
continued, “but he’s also a fool, and Taequanda does not suffer fools gladly.”

“Thank god for that.”

“Anyway, like your new digs?”

“What’s not to like?”

“How ’bout the deck?”

“Great place to hang with Sol,”
Lara said with a sigh.

“Sol?”

“Watch a sunset. Sorry.”

“No, ‘hanging with Sol.’ I like
that. Malibu is the greatest place
to hang with Sol.”

“I don’t know about that. I like
where I usually go.”

“Where do you usually go?”

“Ocean and
Arizona
.”

“It
is
nice there. So how
would you improve the view from your deck?”

Lara looked toward the corner of the
sky where the light had faded to deep red with purple edges that blended into
the gathering blackness. “Maybe if you moved the sun a little to the left.”

“I could talk to someone about
that.”

“So you do have clout around here.”

“On the other hand,” Clay continued,
“my view might improve if
you
moved a little to your left.”

“What?”

“Just a step.”

Lara looked left, then right, then
turned around.

“Perfect!” Clay said. “Reminds me
of the first time I saw you on the Upper Deck, standing at the railing.”

“Wait. Where—?”

“Up here.”

Lara looked up to see a leg
swinging from a dormer a few feet above her deck. Clay was perched on the roof
wearing an ear-to-ear grin. He slipped his phone into a pocket and slid
forward, deftly landing in front of Lara.

“How long were you…”

Pushing aside a few stay strands of
hair, his eyes were ablaze with desire. “Long enough to realize you’re the only
thing in the world that could improve a sunset.”

Lara snapped her phone shut. Clay
cradled her chin and kissed her.

* * *

 Lara felt the blood rush from
her head as Clay’s tongue danced ever so lightly across hers. Her shoulders
went limp, and the rest of her followed. Clay put his hand on her waist and
pulled her close. Their breathing became synchronized. Their bodies melded.

Only forty-eight hours had passed
since they’d made love in the waterfall at Heat, but with all that had happened
in those hours, it seemed like a lifetime ago. The pace of the day had been
physically demanding and emotionally grueling, with constant reminders of how
she was faking it. Of how far in over her head she was. Of how wrong she had
been about Clay. Lara’s body and soul focused on the immediacy of his presence;
her mind kept jetting forward to a time when she would have to get out of the
hole she was still digging.

That time could be now. She could
break off this kiss and confess everything.
Clay would understand. He would
want to help me. He would help me. Or maybe he’d have me shipped back to “S.M.”

Or Sushma would. No matter what,
confessing to Clay would put an end to Lara’s Big Plan. Would that be so bad?
What earth-shaking revelations had she dredged up? Spike personified the most
egregious gay stereotypes, but was a closet hetero lecher with wandering hands.
Heat hosted naked pool parties for young, beautiful people. Women in The
Rotation didn’t write their own tweets. Clay wasn’t really in charge.
All
firmly between “ho” and “hum” on the Richter scale.

When their lips separated, Lara
kept her eyes closed. It kept the moment alive—but Lara also feared that if
Clay looked into them, he would detect her deceit.

Lara turned toward the water.
“Clay, why didn’t you just knock on my door?”

“This feels naughtier.” He hugged
her from behind and whispered, “It drives them crazy when they can’t find me.”

“You’re playing hooky from work?”

“To spend time with my favorite
girl.” He nibbled on her ear.

Lara closed her eyes. This was one
of the sexiest men in the world. A cultured man. An arbiter of sensibilities. A
man who could make a woman feel she was the only woman who ever lived—and mean
it. Sure, he had flaws. Who didn’t? But who was Lara Dixon? A boring girl from
the valley whose life’s résumé contained not much more than a community college
degree, a failed marriage and a partially hatched plan to save the world
from—what?

What does he see in me?

“Clay.”

“Shhh.”

“What did Anton Roche tell you
about me?”

“Anton Roche?”

“He said he’d mentioned me to you
and you wanted to meet me.” Lara turned to face Clay. “What did he tell you?”

“He said you knew about racing.
That you’d worked in the movie industry. That you were bright and funny. And
sexy. He said you were the—how did he say it? ‘The aurora borealis, Liberty’s
torch and the leprechaun’s pot o’ gold rolled into one.’”

Lara laughed.

“What?”

“Was he telling the truth?”

“I haven’t seen any evidence to the
contrary.” Clay brushed the hair off her forehead. She bobbed her head to knock
it back into place, but when it didn’t cooperate, she decided to let it go.

“Clay, I—” she began, but he put a
finger to her lips, then swept her into his arms and carried her inside to the
bed. He kissed his way from her lips to the base of her neck. Lara felt that
melting sensation return.

Clay untied the robe and reached
inside. The feathery fabric felt cushy against Lara’s flesh, but Clay’s
caresses were heavenly—and then some. He slid his palms upward from her
stomach, slipping around the edges of her breasts and around the curve of her
shoulders. Lara pulled Clay’s shirt off over his head and tossed it wantonly
out into the room, then pushed back her robe’s terry cloth lapels. Clay’s eyes
widened at the sight of her bare torso. Starting where he had left off, he
continued kissing his way down her body.

When Clay got to where the robe was
still closed, he buried his face in the pink nap and continued on his way. Lara
sighed when Clay finally pushed the dense fabric to each side and parted her
legs. Starting at her knees, he stroked her thighs with his clean-shaven chin.
He then teased her with his breath, warming her folds. Lara moaned and arched
her back as Clay slowly worked his tongue inside her until she was ready to
explode. She did not want to climax this way, though. She wanted him inside
her. So she ran her fingers through his hair and, when he looked up, guided his
face to hers. They kissed, and Lara tugged on his waistband.

“It can’t be very comfortable
having these still on,” she said. Clay stood, and Lara unhitched his belt,
pulled down the zipper and let his pants drop to the floor. Clay was already
hard, and she stroked him through his plain white briefs.
Vanilla underwear
on a man of so many flavors.

“How’s that?” she asked.

“Nice.”

“And how’s this?” She leaned
forward and nibbled through the pima.

Clay closed his eyes and took a
deep breath.

“And this?” Lara ran her index
fingers along the inside of the elastic band and peeled off the briefs.

Clay answered with a lascivious
smile as he sat on the edge of the bed, opened a drawer in the nightstand, took
out a condom and ripped open the package.

“Allow me.” Lara snagged the condom
from Clay and took her sweet time sliding it into place, unrolling it partway
and letting her cupped hand slip the last few inches, then cocking her head to
evaluate her progress. Clay played with her hair the whole time.

“There,” Lara finally said,
admiring her handiwork.

Clay pushed her back into a
reclining position. Strange though the surroundings still were to Lara, the
weight of his body felt familiar. Like something she always had known.
Something that always was meant to have been.

When he was inside her, all of her
doubts and concerns disappeared. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else even
existed. The ocean, infinite and so near, vanished. The strain of the day was
swept away by soothing caresses. Painful memories and fears of inadequacy
floated away in the effervescence of the moment.