Their Summer Heat by Kitty DuCane

me?”
    “Yes. You don’t know what’s going on, and you apparently are not capable of making decisions where your safety is concerned.”
    She turned sideways to squeeze between the foot traffic. “Max Preston, I am not a child. You are not my daddy or my keeper. If you think—”
    “I am your lover, and I care about you.”
    Lover? That one word bothered her and made even less sense in her mind. “No, you’re a control freak. You’re used to havin’ your way, havin’ the whole world bow down to you. Well, I need my space. And another thing. I do not appreciate you callin’ Mr. Benny and arrangin’ it so I don’t have to work my notice.”
    “We told you we plan on keeping you occupied at night.”
    “I don’t care. You make me want to wring your neck.” He couldn’t derail her with sexual innuendos. “I want to control my life. And I’m tired of talkin’ to you. I’ll see you tonight.” She ended the call and stuffed the stupid phone back inside her purse.
    The realization that there was nothing left of her slammed into her head-on. The clothes on her back were borrowed, her phone, her shoes, her underwear, everything except her thrift-store purse. Her jobs weren’t even hers to command.
    Since she didn’t know who tracked her, she’d try some evasion techniques. Summer waited until a crowd came by, and then she wiggled into the middle, wishing she was shorter than her five ten and that her red hair wasn’t like a flowing neon billboard. The pack shrank and grew as if it had a life of its own, and she let her gaze casually search for a…clue as to who was on her tail.
    Her belly rested in her throat for some reason, probably because she wasn’t adept at this cloak-and-dagger shit. Think, Summer, think. She could catch a cab—that would be hard to follow—or she could… On impulse, she pulled her hood over her head and veered right.
    The little bell over the door dinged, and the tinkling of feng shui music greeted her.
    “Can I help you?” asked the pretty receptionist.
    “Yes, please. Laser hair removal. Bikini area.” Summer had no idea what compulsion made her shove herself into a salon and ask for her pubic hair to be removed when she planned on killing Logan and Max the next time she saw them. Now, even her intentions weren’t her own, as she suddenly found herself trying to please two men she barely knew. And though they had told her they’d put money in her account, she shouldn’t spend it, shouldn’t splurge on such…such…craziness.
    “I’m sorry, but sometimes, depending on the tint of the hair, laser treatment doesn’t work on red hair. Yours is so light, I doubt it will take.”
    “I see.” But not really. Why me?
    “But a Brazilian wax would work.”
    “Em… Sounds painful.” And embarrassing.
    “No, not really. And you’re in luck. We have an opening.”
    Summer knew she was impulsive, but this took the cake. “Okay.”
    “Right this way.”
     
    Three hours later, Summer emerged from the salon.
    And the procedure was painful.
    Not screaming painful but like an uncomfortable bite.
    But it was done, and she was kinda glad. Her panties brushed against her clit like a caress without the natural barrier there to hold the fabric away from her skin.
    Pushing the thought of her body parts aside, she fell in step with the four-o’clockers headed for the subway, needing to get to Max’s, fuss them out, lay down new ground rules, and take a nap. She was jostled, shoved forward, bumped into the woman in front of her.
    “Sorry.”
    Something tugged against her upper left arm. Summer glanced down, saw the bright red blooming on her bicep. She stopped walking, was clipped from behind by a tall man who said, “Hey, watch it, lady.”
    She clamped her hand on her wound, spun in a circle, looking at every face, searching for someone she hoped she didn’t find. The masses sidestepped her, glared at her.
    One man stopped and glanced at her arm. “Are you all