Bungalow Nights (Beach House No. 9) (21 page)

Okay, she glared at him a little. It wasn’t that she could blame him for a moment of it—well, of course he was responsible for every kiss, every caress, every jolt of sweet satisfaction—because the true guilty party wasn’t a person at all. It was the magnetism that had pulled them together from the very first. That attraction that had burned her fingertips and made her insides melt like heated marshmallows even now.

As if he felt her gaze, he glanced over.

Just like that, it happened. A string seemed to tether them together, and it pulled tighter the longer they looked at each other. Her belly clenched again, and Layla pressed one leg against the other, trying to dissipate the ache between them. Vance’s jaw tightened and she saw his lips press into a taut line.

Unfortunately, that only sent her mind to the incredible moment on the cliff when he’d taken his fingertips straight from her body to his mouth. He’d made a little sound of appreciation as he’d absorbed her taste, and her skin had flamed with both a deep embarrassment and an almost uncivilized surge of desire.

God, she thought now, feeling an echo of that heat radiating from her bones outward. The unselfconscious lustiness of the gesture had been so...so
male
.

As Vance directed his attention out the windshield again, she allowed herself a little shiver. She needed some outlet for the sensual pressure bottled inside her.

Vance cleared his throat. “You’re cold? I can turn down the air-conditioning.”

“No.” She almost laughed. He’d posed that question before, and she hadn’t been trembling due to the chilly temperature then, either. It was as if she had a sexual furnace inside her, one that was constantly stoked by the smallest things. The flex of his long thigh muscle as he braked into the next sharp curve. The gold tips of his hair, longer than it had been when they’d first moved into No. 9. The look of his lean fingers as they gripped the steering wheel. His right arm was lifted to the two o’clock position, while the left, the one with the cast, lay in his lap. Two fingertips rested on the bottom curve of the wheel.

She imagined herself sucking them. Then sucking him.

Shocked by the thought—in broad daylight! In the
cupcak
e truck!—she made a little noise. When he glanced over, she whipped her head toward the passenger window.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Maybe she should just get it out into the open.
You put strange thoughts in my head. I woke up last night hot and restless. I want to taste you
. His quiet mood didn’t invite confessions, however. And he hadn’t mentioned anything about their sunset interlude himself since that night when he’d thought it “simpler” for the sexual satisfaction to be one-sided. She’d agreed, and then, in silence, they’d picked their way down the cliff in the starlight.

She supposed there wasn’t much more to say, anyway, but...

Had he decided it should stop there because he was concerned she’d make too much of it? Did he worry she might get too attached?

“I’m fine,” she told him again.

Because she didn’t make too much of anything, ever. And army brats knew better than to count on permanence.

Soon they were approaching the Smith ranch. In deference to the expected traffic, she supposed, there were temporary caution signs set up along the way. It made sense, given the hairpin turns, though Vance navigated them smoothly, and soon they were pulling into the sprawling courtyard that lay between the two big houses. At the center was a low stage already crowded with musical instruments and audio equipment. Nearby were long rows of adjoined picnic tables, sunshades erected above them. Vance steered the truck beyond, to the stand of massive oaks. There was enough room between the trunks for vehicles to park, and it was here that the food vendors were setting up for the event. Already she caught a whiff of meats being tended over large grills. Vance set the parking brake and then took a breath. “Showtime,” he murmured.

Layla slid him a sidelong look. He couldn’t be looking forward to this, but you wouldn’t know it from his calm posture. He sat in the seat in his worn jeans, navy blue single-pocket T-shirt, and a beat-up pair of running shoes. Apparently Picnic Day was a casual affair.

She’d counted on that, though she was wearing a dress instead of shorts for this second visit to the ranch. It was a soft cotton, halter-style sundress, with a swirling pattern of umber and gold colors that she thought set off the light tan she’d gained from her days at the beach. She didn’t wear much makeup, opting for a double layer of mascara and a sheer lipstick that held just a hint of bronze.

Flipping down the visor overhead, she checked her face in the mirror.

“You have to know how pretty you are,” Vance said, as if it was a personal insult.

She turned to him, frowning, and he winced, apparently catching his harsh tone. “Sorry,” he said. “I just want this damn day to be over.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Layla agreed. Then she hauled in a deep breath and blew it out. “Shall we get moving then?”
Yeah, let’s just get this damn day over with.

They were ready by the noon opening. The awning was erected, the small bistro tables and chairs set out, the cupcakes transferred from the bakery boxes she used for transport to the glass display cases. She and Vance worked well together and he did all that she asked, but the quarters were close and she realized he was being careful not to touch her—or even get too near.

Katie Smith came toward the truck just as the first visitors arrived, dragging a garbage can behind her. Vance hopped out to take it from her. Her face lit up at the sight of him. “You’re free of the wrist brace,” she said, and then her smile turned teary as he bent to kiss her cheek.

“Mom,” he admonished, shaking his head, but she only let out a watery laugh and pushed him away.

“Go find a good place for the can. I want to see your girl’s wares.” Then she perused the selections with great interest. “These look delicious.”

“Would you like one?” Layla asked. The “your girl” had sent her pulse stumbling. She’d had second and third thoughts about Picnic Day and had even considered bowing out altogether, Vance’s cool detachment making it even more difficult to pull off a pretend relationship.

But she’d sympathized with his family dilemma and she’d made a promise to his mother, so she pinned on a smile. “We have our famous devil’s food cupcake, a new lemon flavor that I just started featuring and, in honor of today, a vanilla-avocado cake with milk chocolate frosting.”

Katie blinked in surprise. “Avocado in a cupcake? We’ve used it with zucchini to make a bread, but I’ve not attempted a lighter crumb.”

So she bakes, too, Layla thought, inordinately pleased. “It works. It’s a fat replacement, really. I’m pretty happy with the results.”

“Let me get Vance’s father over here,” Katie said. “He’ll love an avocado cupcake...and I’m sure he wants to meet you.”

“Sure. Great,” Layla said, not letting go of her smile. Facing the Smith patriarch had to be done, she knew. The uncomfortable day wouldn’t be over until she’d made that acquaintance. But before her nerves had a chance to really get jangling at the idea, there was a line in front of her, four deep.

Slipping into the rhythm of taking orders, making change and delivering desserts, she barely looked up when Katie reappeared at the window. “William,” she said, turning to the figure behind her, “this is Vance’s girlfriend, Layla...”

“Parker,” Layla finished for her, and stripped off her food prep glove so she could shake the man’s hand. He stepped up and her heart stuttered.
Oh.
There was Vance, thirty or so years from now. Though the golden hair had turned silver, father and son shared the same tall, lean body and the same blue eyes. The same guarded expression.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, with polite reserve.

“And you, too,” she replied, then glanced around the interior of the truck. “Hey, Vance, your dad...” He’d ducked out, she realized with a frown. Intentionally avoiding the situation, she was sure. She turned back and pretended not to be annoyed. “I’m sorry. He was just here.”

An expression crossed the older man’s face and now she saw his son Fitz in him, too. The two men were similarly bad at hiding their troubled emotions when it came to the younger Smith brother. “I’m sure I’ll catch up with him sooner or later,” William Smith said. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome. It looks to be a great event.”

“Yes. Sure.” He shoved his hands in his front pockets. “Well, uh...” He looked as if he wanted to ask her questions but didn’t know where to start.

In the distance, a voice shouted his name, and relief crossed his face. “I’m sorry, maybe later we can...”

She was already smiling again and waving him away, and then she was quickly consumed by managing the clamoring crowd when the event really started swinging. As the temperature climbed, she heard a fiddle and a banjo break into a bluegrass tune. Somebody whooped as they walked by with a plate of ribs and an ear of bright yellow corn.

Vance reappeared and once again pitched in. She managed to corner him for a moment, noting his grim expression. “Are you all right?” she asked.

He was silent as he studied her face. “Do I need to apologize for being a moody ass?”

His rueful smile melted her. “Memories bringing you down?”

“I’m just trying to float on top of them,” he said, then brushed her cheek with a knuckle and went back to work.

The hours flew by. When there was a brief lull in demand, Vance left the truck and returned with platefuls of food, as well as the teenage daughter of a neighbor. The girl took Layla’s place at the counter so she could eat. There was a heaping mound of potato salad, skewered strips of barbecued chicken, tortillas and beans. Thick slices of creamy green avocado speared by long toothpicks had been drizzled with a vinaigrette.

Though Vance wandered off to consume his meal—still trying to avoid her when he could?—Layla took a stool near her temporary helper. It was while she was sitting that she caught sight of Fitz and Blythe in the distance. The blonde looked as though she belonged at the country club instead of in the country. Her tailored, sleeveless shirtdress was silk, her long platinum hair tied back in a sleek tail.

She’s so lovely I want to stick a pin in her,
Layla thought, instead stabbing a chunk of potato with her now-empty avocado toothpick. Then she noticed Vance sitting against a tree, his gaze on his brother and his ex, and stabbed another, with more viciousness. Was he still floating on top of the memories or had he fallen into pining after the elegant beauty?

The thought made her a little bad-tempered as she returned to duty. Vance stepped inside, and praise be, his mood seemed improved—by the food or perhaps because he saw the end of the day in sight. Unfortunately, Layla only became more irritable when she ran out of lemon cupcakes, then the avocado ones, just as it was turning dark. She’d been so sure she’d baked enough of every flavor to make it through the entire event.

“Won’t this day ever be over?” she muttered, as she tried breaking into a shrink-wrapped package of napkins.

Opening the darn thing seemed impossible. “Great,” she complained aloud. “Now they’re childproofing paper goods.”

Vance approached, and in the truck’s well-lit interior she saw he held a small knife in his hand. She glared at him. “You can put your weapon down, okay? I’m not actually dangerous.”

He raised a brow. “I was going to offer to get that open for you.”

“I’ve got it.” Still seething, she snatched at the knife. There was a sense of pressure, a quick slash of heat, and then she was staring at the shredded fingertip of her glove. And blood.

“Oh,” she said. It all caught up with her: the tension, the frustration, the long hours on her feet. She felt her knees go soft.

From far away she heard Vance curse. Then he had an arm around her to hustle her toward the sink. He flipped on the water, stripped off the glove and thrust her hand under the flow. She shivered in reaction to the cool liquid on her skin as the cut began to throb.

Vance cursed again. “You have bandages in here?”

But her dizzy brain couldn’t formulate an answer. With another muttered curse, he wrapped her finger in a paper towel. His arm still around her, he hustled her down the steps.

“Wait,” she protested, “we can’t leave the truck.”

“We’re leaving the truck,” he said, but he set her in one of the bistro chairs while he lowered the awning and locked up. Then he had her back on her feet and was helping her toward the courtyard.

Next thing she knew, she was sitting at one of the picnic tables beside the dance area, surrounded by people talking, eating and laughing. Vance had found an elastic bandage somewhere, and he was hunkered down, bent over her wounded finger. The strings of fairy lights overhead caught the gold threads in his hair. Bemused, she watched him unwrap the paper towel with tender care.

“I’m fine,” she said.

He glanced up. “Drink the cola.”

She blinked, realizing he’d brought along a can with the first-aid equipment. Her free hand circled the sweating aluminum and she tilted her head to take a long draft of sugar and caffeine—nearly half of it in one go. “Good,” she said, and pressed the cold container to her throat.

Vance wrapped the bandage securely about her finger, then looked up again. “Your hand’s fine—”

“Told you.”

“—but you need to hydrate. Finish that and I’ll get you some water.”

She made a face. “Yes, Grandpa Vance.”

One brow rose. “My grandpa switched me when I sassed.”

“Liar.” With the cola almost finished, she was feeling much better. Or maybe it was because he continued to cradle her hand. It was the closest they’d been to each other since that night on the cliff. “Bet your mom would confirm it.”

His eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t mean I won’t spank you.”

Some imp invaded her body. Spoke through her mouth in a soft, teasing tone. “But not because you’re mad at me.”

He abruptly stood, and she rose, too, drawn up by his hand. His gaze dropped to where they were joined, as if he’d just realized he still had her in his grasp. In the next moment, the band started playing again. No bluegrass now, but a country ballad. Love gone wrong.