Is it real or is it Memorex?

Sweat dripped down the back of Savanna Blaine’s neck and ran into the collar of her blouse. She moaned in annoyance and stole a glance at Ben Lantano who sat across from her behind the wheel of the ancient Chevy pickup he lovingly called Delilah.

Ben gave her an apologetic grin. “She leaks Freon sometimes.” With his dark brows arched over deep blue eyes, his sidelong glance caused an involuntary tingle down her spine. Despite her discomfort, Savanna found it hard to maintain her annoyance at the sweltering heat in the pickup’s cab. Unfortunately, Ben’s smile only served to ratchet the temperature up a few more degrees past the one-hundred mark.

Another drop of sweat rolled down Savanna’s neck and over her collarbone, then made a dive into the deep valley between her breasts.

Why had she gone for the Vicky’s Mysteries push-up bra this morning? In the late August heat wave the powder blue lace-and-satin construction felt like a medieval torture device. Next time she had an interview in the Nevada desert in August, she’d wear loose clothing and make sure her photographer’s car had better air conditioning. She felt like a wilted bouquet, cinched at the stems, her petals shapeless and drooping.

“Why don’t we make a pit stop at the next diner and get some cold drinks?” Ben, the eternal optimist, wore a sheen of sweat, too, but for some reason on him it looked good. The collar of his light green T-shirt had darkened in a ring around his neck, and the ends of his short black hair stuck out over his forehead and his nape in damp spikes.

“Fine with me. You’re buying.” Savanna smirked. She’d had her doubts about Delilah when Ben picked her up at her apartment on Thursday morning for the trek out to Jackson Deveraux’s secluded desert ranch. Of course, then it had been overcast with a faint breeze, the remnant of a passing storm. Her enthusiasm for the plum interview with the media tycoon had overshadowed any thoughts about the tenacity of a vehicle with silver duct tape patching a rust hole in the driver’s side door.

“What’s that noise?” A metallic ping with a regular beat interrupted Savanna’s thoughts and Ben’s grin faded. He reached over to shut off the useless air conditioner and his fingers brushed dangerously close to her left knee.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

It was Savanna’s turn to arch her eyebrows. “You don’t sound convinced.”

*******

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