Heat Stroke by Rachel Caine Page B

high-traffic area. I give you . . . two, maybe three minutes, if you’re lucky, before someone comes along.”
    â€œBastard,” I muttered, and went back to concentrating. When I had the image in my head, I opened my eyes wide and stared at him as I started building my new wardrobe. And yeah, okay, I was trying to get back at him.
    But still, it was so cool.
    I added pieces the same way I’d constructed my body, from the inside out: boy-cut panties first (lacy), bra (sheer), stockings (thigh high), knee-length leather skirt (black), lime green midriff-baring shirt (polyester). David leaned against the wall and watched this striptease-in-reverse with fabulously expressive eyebrows slowly climbing toward heaven. I finished it off with a pair of strappy lime green three-inch heels, something from the Manolo Blahnik spring collection that I’d seen two months ago in Vogue.
    He looked me over, blinked behind the glasses, and asked, “You’re done?”
    I took offense. “Yeah. You with the fashion police?”
    â€œI don’t think I’d pass the entrance exam.” Theeyebrows didn’t come down. “I never knew you were so . . .”
    â€œFashionable?”
    â€œNot really the word I was thinking.”
    I struck a pose and looked at him from under my supernaturally lustrous eyelashes. “Come on, you know it’s sexy.”
    â€œAnd that’s sort of my point.”
    Oh yeah. We were going to see Lewis. I chose not to think too much on what that revealed about my motives. Too late now. I walked past him, head high, heading for the elevators.
    â€œComing?” I asked. He fell in step with me.
    â€œConsidering I’m the only one of us who knows where he said to meet him, you’d better hope.”
    â€œI’m surprised you’re so eager.” Not that he and Lewis didn’t get along, or hadn’t, anyway . . . “Oh. You’re hoping he’s got some idea about your little sparkly things.”
    I got another frown for that one. “I hope that’s what they are.”
    â€œInstead of . . . ?”
    â€œSomething else. I just get nervous when the universe doesn’t obey its own laws.”
    â€œWelcome to my world,” I said. “Having kind of a weird life experience these days.”
    I hadn’t been out of the room except to travel the aetheric—and that somewhat queasy trip to the Drake Hotel—since we’d checked in; the elegance came as a shock. First, the carpet—a blue-and-gold riot of French Provincialism. Next, the genuine Louis-the-whatever gilt tables with chunky glass vases of silk flowers.
    No, I definitely hadn’t dressed to fit the room.
    I stopped in the full force of a patch of sunlight in the lobby window and let my skin soak up the energy. I hadn’t realized I needed it until it reached inside and stilled me in a way that only David’s touch had been able to achieve.
    David didn’t speak for a moment, just stood with me in that hot golden patch of warmth. When I looked over at him, his eyes were closed, his face rapt in a kind of worship. I took his hand. He looked over at me, smiled, and pushed the DOWN button on the panel for the elevator.
    â€œWhy does that feel so good?” I asked. “And don’t tell me it’s because we’ve been shut in a room for days.”
    â€œLike calls to like,” he said. “You’re made of fire now.”
    â€œSo I’m going to feel like this every time I pass an open flame? Great. Firegasm.”
    â€œRemember that focus thing we were talking about? Learn to practice it.”
    The elevator dinged and yawned open. Nobody inside. We entered and David touched the button for L .
    â€œYou haven’t told me where we’re heading.”
    â€œNo,” he agreed.
    â€œAnd you’re not going to?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œSo much for the