Palm Springs Heat

by DC Thome

  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.

  “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 swimm
ing 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, Cla
y 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

  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.