Palm Springs Heat by Dc Thome Page A

Lara’s
discomfort or Clay’s admonition, Chartre tilted his head, puckered his lips and
nodded.
    “Yes, very nice raw materials,” he
said. “It will be wonderful dressing a woman. A real woman, if you know
what I mean.”
    Not really.
    Clay cupped his hands on his chest
and whispered, “Natural.”
    In that case, all right.
    Chartre nodded with scorn at the
yellow dress that had made Lara feel so pretty the previous afternoon. The
blond worker bee whisked it away as though removing roadkill from a highway.
    “Are you going to get on with it,”
Clay chided, “or is she going to have to go around naked all day?
    “We certainly wouldn’t want that .”
Chartre clapped, and more assistants wheeled several racks of clothes into the
room.
    Lara was dumbfounded. “Do we really
need all this?”
    “My dear,” Chartre said, looking at
Lara over the top of his glasses, “we do things right around here.”
     
    * * *
     
    Lara tried on one item after
another. Chartre operated like a madman, tossing articles of clothing hither
and yon, so focused that he practically ripped articles he deemed unacceptable
from Lara’s body before she had a chance to remove them. It made Lara giddy. So
giddy that she blocked out Chartre and the worker bees. She was putting on a
show for Clay—and he was enjoying it.
    “Gina?”
    Gina?
    “Gina, love, where did this end
up?” Chartre held up a pouffy turquoise chiffon top that no one but a
seventeen-year-old suburbanite would wear.
    The blond assistant feathered her
phone’s screen with her thumb. “Consider,” she said.
    “Consider? Whatever could I have
been thinking?”
    Gina. If Lara developed genuine
feelings for Clay, how would that affect her “mission”? And what’s going on
with him? As she looked back over the past twenty-four hours, Lara could
see how she might reinterpret certain utterances, certain moves, certain
touches. Could it be possible that Clay—Clay Creighton, the ruler of the Fast
Lane empire of pleasure for men—might be feeling like a boy in a tux and a
boutonniere slow-dancing with his favorite girl at the junior prom?
    “I mean, really.” Chartre tossed
the offending garment aside like a used dish rag. “I damn well better be at the
top of my game if we’re going to give this lovely creature a fitting welcome
into The Rotation.”
    What?
    Lara looked at Clay. “What?”
    “That’s a good question.”
    “Oh, dear.” For the first time
since Lara met him, Chartre was at a loss for words.
    Clay, who had been reclining on the
bed, stood up. “Are  you saying Shush went ahead and…”
    The color drained from Chartre’s
face. “All I know is that I was told this was a Rotation fitting.”
    A brusque voice came from near the
door. “You were told correctly.”
    Everyone turned to see Sushma
standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. “And, you are correct that
everyone”—she shot a venomous glance at Clay—“had better be at the top of his
game.”
    Sushma crossed the room toward
Lara. Looking at Lara but talking to Clay, she said, “My, but she is as lovely
as I have been led to believe. I am Sushma Vishnuveda.”
    She extended her hand.

 
    9
     
     “You do brighten a room,
Shush,” Clay said.
    Sushma ignored Clay. “How is the
fitting going, Miss Dixon?”
    Fitting?
    “You know, it might have been a
good idea to ask Lara about it first.”
    “Why? Is this not what she wanted?
Miss Dixon, is this not what you wanted?”
    “I hadn’t really thought about
being in The Rotation.” Lara felt her training on how to lie kicking into high
gear.
    “Apparently, doing things without thinking
is quite in fashion around here.” Sushma directed her deadpan gaze at Clay. “We
need to talk.”
    “My schedule’s pretty open all
afternoon,” Clay responded.
    “Your schedule is open right now.”
Sushma marched toward the door.
    “I’m not exactly dressed.”
    Sushma stopped. “I have seen you
wearing less.” She looked coyly in