Free Palm Springs Heat by Dc Thome Page A

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,