The Heat

5. The Blue Palace Hotel

"No, there must have been a mistake. We booked two separate rooms."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, the only reservation we have is for a single room with two double beds..."

"This is ridiculous. Can't you give us another room?" 

"No, ma'am, all the other rooms are booked. Winter break. Busy night." The receptionist gave her a regretful smile. 

Debbie sighed in frustration and glanced at Lou for help, but the blonde was leaning against the desk, staring at the waterfall at the other end of the lobby. Debbie didn't even know if Lou was listening to what was happening right now. 

"Maybe I can redirect you and your wife to another hotel?"

"Wife?" Debbie heard Lou snicker. Oh my God, I'm gonna kill her. "No. We're not married. That's why we booked two separate rooms."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but the next hotel--"

"The next hotel is ten miles away from the airport. We don't have the time." The tiredness of the night made her voice tight with impatience. Frankly she wasn't thinking of anything but a hot shower and sleep at this point, but she certainly wasn't about to share a room with Miller--

"We'll take the room," Lou's calm voice broke in. She reached out and took the key card offered by the receptionist. "Thanks."

Debbie whirled around to face Lou, but Lou didn't look at her. Instead she took up her suitcase, and Debbie's as well. "C'mon, wife."

"Have a good stay," the receptionist said, and Debbie had no choice but to follow. 

Lou lead the way to their room, opened the door, and they stepped inside. 

"You can have the bed by the window," Lou said, dropping Debbie's suitcase on a bed. "But I get to choose the TV channels."

"Miller, what do you think you're doing?" 

Lou looked at her in mild surprise. "You don't want the window, then? By the way, you don't snore, do you?"

"What? No. Of course not."

Lou tossed her own suitcase onto the other bed, then shrugged off her jacket. She had on a black tank top underneath, and Debbie saw that her pale arms were muscular. She looked away, trying to ignore the hot feeling that suddenly spread up her neck. 

"Christ, I'm tired. You mind if I shower first?"

"Go ahead," Debbie said, and went to her own suitcase for an excuse to turn her back on Lou. She heard the bathroom door shut and the water turn on with a screech. She sat down on the bed and tried to read through the assignment briefing again, but for the first time in probably her entire life, she found it hard to focus.

It's just because I'm tired, Debbie told herself. 

"Damn," Lou said from inside the bathroom, "I forgot my towel. Will you get it for me? It's in my suitcase."

"What's wrong with the towels in there already?" Debbie called back. 

"Well, God knows who the hell they've been used by before."

Debbie went to Lou's suitcase and found the blue towel folded neatly among her clothes. She knocked on the door, expecting Lou to only open it a crack, but instead Lou flung the door wide open, and before Debbie could stop herself her eyes flit down and she saw Lou's naked body.

"Jesus!" Debbie shouted and spun around, her face reddening. 

"What?" Lou asked innocently, wrapping the towel around herself.

"Jesus," Debbie repeated. She was so embarrassed she thought her heart was going to drop into her stomach. "Just dry yourself off." She backed away and crashed into the armchair.

"Sure," Lou said with an infuriating laugh in her voice, and closed the door again.

Debbie sat down in the armchair and stared hard at the bed, willing the image of Lou away from her mind. So much. So much of her. Her face was so hot she thought she must have resembled an overripe cherry. Lou...

She tried to convert her flustered feelings to anger. She couldn't be distracted on this mission. Not again. Not this time. How could Lou do it so easily, catch her off guard when she was least expecting it? 

Or maybe it was nothing to Lou, maybe there was no intent behind it...maybe it was Debbie's fault for being distracted in the first place. After all, it was Debbie's mind that made her want to touch the place where Lou's smooth stomach caved down, it was Debbie's mind that traced the angles of Lou's porcelain hips and her...

The door opened, and Lou emerged, wearing her pajamas (an oversized Star Trek T-shirt and leggings), her blonde hair dark from dampness. She glanced at Debbie sitting in the armchair. "I'm out," she said promptly. Could she see how Debbie felt? Could she sense it, read it like everything else she'd seen in Debbie?

"I know," Debbie said, unable to make eye contact. "You look like a kid with that shirt on," she added brusquely, to cover how discomposed she was.

Lou remained unperturbed. "It's called sleepwear...it's probably more comfortable than that pantsuit."

"It's not a pantsuit!"

"No, really, I could lend you one of my shirts. You'd look adorable."

For about the fiftieth time that night, Debbie blushed. Lou threw herself onto her bed and propped herself up on one elbow, smirking up at her.

She could definitely see how Debbie felt.