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“Honestly, Garrison, cool your hormones,” she joked. One of the hot-rod golf carts Philip enjoyed so much delivered them close to the lighthouse near the heart of the city. Holding her hat, Carla climbed out from the back of the cart. Her senses were spinning, and she doubted if she’d ever get used to riding in those suicidal contraptions. The short rides weren’t so bad, but anything more than three miles was like a death wish.
A drop of rain hit her hand. Carla raised her eyes to examine the darkening sky and groaned inwardly. A storm would ruin everything. Besides, if Philip saw what happened to her hair in the rain, she’d never live it down. The frizzies invariably gave her a striking resemblance to the Bride of Frankenstein.
“Philip?”
Preoccupied for the moment, Philip paid the driver and returned the folded money to his pocket. “Something wrong?”
“It’s raining.”
“I know!”
Twisting the strap of her purse, she swung it over her shoulder and secured the large-brimmed straw hat by holding it down over both ears. “Maybe we should go back to the hotel.”
“Why?”
She swallowed nervously. “Well, we obviously can’t have a picnic in the rain, and if…my hat should come off…well, my hair—”
Suddenly, the sky opened up and the earth was bombarded with heavy sheets of rain. Giving a cry of alarm, Carla ran for shelter. Mud splashed against the backs of her legs, and immediately a chill ran up her arms.
Philip caught up with her and cupped her elbow. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Where?” she shouted, but he didn’t answer as they raced down a side street. After two long blocks, Carla stopped counting. Placing one foot in front of the other was all that she could manage in the torrent that was beating against her.
Philip led her into a building and up two flights of stairs.
Leaning against the hallway wall, Carla gasped for breath. “Where are we?”
“My parents’ condo.”
Vaguely, she recalled Philip mentioning that the condo was the reason he was in Mazatlán. He’d said something about repairs, but Carla didn’t care where they were, as long as it was dry.
“Let’s get these wet things off,” Philip suggested, holding the door open for her and leading the way into the kitchen.
The condominium looked surprisingly modern, and Carla hurried inside, not wishing to leave a trail of mud across the cream-colored carpet. The washer and dryer were behind a louvered door. Philip pulled his shirt from his waist and unbuttoned it. “We’d better let these dry.”
Wide-eyed, her mouth open, Carla watched him toss his drenched shirt inside. He paused and glanced expectantly at her.
“You don’t honestly expect me to parade around here in my underwear, do you?”
“Well, to be honest,” he said with a wry grin, “I didn’t expect it, but I was hoping. Hold on and I’ll get you my mom’s robe.”
By the time he returned, Carla had removed her sandals and found a kitchen towel to dry her feet. When she heard Philip approach, she straightened and continued to press her hat—still secure despite everything—down over her ears.
“Here.” He draped the cotton robe over a chair. “I’ll start a fire. Let me know when you’re finished.”
Shivering, Carla slipped the dress over her hips and tossed it inside the dryer. Another towel served as a turban for her hair and hid the effects of the rain.
She tied the sash of the robe and took a deep breath. Self-consciously, she stood just outside the living room. A small fire was crackling in the fireplace, and Philip was kneeling in front of it, adding one stick of wood at a time.
He seemed to sense that she was watching him. “How do you feel?” He stood and crossed the room, joining her. Placing a hand on each shoulder, he smiled into her eyes. “Mother’s robe never looked so good.”
“I feel like a drowned rat.” The turban slipped over one eye, and Carla righted it.
His hands found the side of her neck, and his touch sent a warm sensation through her. “Believe me when I say you don’t look like one.”
They continued to study each other, and Carla’s heart began to pound like a locomotive racing against time. In some ways she and Philip were doing that. There were only a few days left of their vacation, and then it would be over. It had to be.
“Come in and sit down,” Philip said at last, and his thumb traced her lips in a feather-light caress. “The fire should take the chill from your bones.”
