Bungalow Nights (Beach House No. 9) (27 page)

He was supposed to be doing the job. Ticking off the items on the Helmet List. Being that same mere stranger to her he’d been on the day they’d met.

Ninety minutes or so passed and he’d leafed through almost all the magazines. They were the classy kind, not a how-to-drive-your-man-mad-in-the-sack article in the bunch. He read about meditation gardens, the ten best uses for truffle oil and the most popular book club picks. Clients had disappeared in the same direction as Layla. Others had come out, all checking text messages as they headed toward the exit.

He was skimming a story about antiaging herbs when a woman strolled from the treatment area, swaddled in a long, thick robe and wearing terry slippers on her feet. She headed for the magazines, then drew up short when she noticed Vance. He wondered if he’d missed a spot while shaving or was walking around with food on his face.

“Uh...” he said, shifting in his chair. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” She started forward again, offering a smile. Her butter-yellow hair was pulled back from a cute face, with round cheeks and a dimpled chin. “I’m sorry. I was just surprised to see a man in the waiting area. I come here every two weeks and have never seen one before.”

Vance smiled back. “I had to learn the secret pass code.”

“Oh?” She laughed. The receptionist looked over, sending an admonishing look and the robe-wrapped woman lowered her voice. “And what
is
the secret pass code?”

He made a big show of glancing around as if he couldn’t let it fall into the wrong hands, then leaned forward. “Mani-pedi,” he stage-whispered.

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle another laugh. “I’ve never—”

“I know. Heard a man say that phrase.” He relaxed into his chair again, grinning. The cutie grinned back, loosening him up a little more. After days of being overfocused on one woman, this felt good. Easy. Maybe he should ask for her number. Living at Beach House No. 9 with Layla didn’t mean he couldn’t go out for a drink with someone else.

The colonel’s daughter wasn’t his woman, after all.

Clutching the sides of the robe together at her throat and at her knees, the blonde perched on a nearby chair. “Are you here with your wife?”

Getting her number was looking better and better. “I’m not attached.”

“No?” she asked, blue eyes definitely flirtatious. “You’re here with your sister, then?”

Vance opened his mouth just as the treatment area’s door reopened and another robe-wrapped woman stepped out. His teeth clicked shut as he stared at Layla. Her bangs were swept back with some kind of hair band, revealing the glowing skin of her pretty face. His heart lurched hard against his ribs.

God, she was something, he thought, staring. Like a dew-dampened rose.

“Not a sister,” the blonde murmured, moving away from him.

“Huh?” Vance glanced at her, and then his gaze was drawn back to the colonel’s daughter. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Wonderful,” Layla said, smiling. “My appointment ran a little long. The pedicure.” She pointed one bare foot in front of her like a ballerina. He could see the nails had been painted a midnight-blue. In addition, a small half moon decorated each big toe, with a tiny jeweled star beside it. “I wanted to tell you I’ll be out in a flash.”

Then she was gone again, and Vance realized the blonde had left, as well. He’d lost his chance at her number. It didn’t make him happy that he couldn’t work up any disappointment.

Not after seeing Layla like that, lit up like a candle, her smile a thousand watts of energy. It had been as if the world was right again, with Layla looking genuinely delighted. He’d wanted to stand up, grab her, kiss her.

Which you didn’t do to a stranger you planned to keep your distance from. That thought had him frowning after they left the beauty place and moved the car nearer to the tea shop. He shoved his hand through his hair as they walked down the sidewalk, groaning when the cast thumped against his forehead. “Jesus, you’d think I’d remember about that,” he muttered.

Layla glanced over. “Was it the spa? Did too much estrogen put somebody in a bad mood?” she teased.

“I’m not in a bad mood.” It was just that he’d missed his opportunity to get that blonde’s number.

“Cranky, then.”

He shot Layla a glare. “And I’m
not
cranky.”

She only laughed as she preceded him into the tea shop. In moments, they were seated at a small table set near a bow window. It was covered by a floral cloth and held a centerpiece of fresh flowers. Layla sniffed at the blossoms, clearly still in a happy frame of mind.

Good, he thought. Maybe she was permanently over her dark mood.

Nothing that happened next changed Vance’s opinion. A waitress in a flower-printed apron came by. She seemed a bit nonplussed to see a man prepared to partake of tea, but he murmured his new fail-safe, “mani-pedi,” and though the girl just blinked, this time Layla laughed.

A pot of Earl Grey was delivered to them, and then a selection of tiered plates that held tiny sandwiches, little tarts and bite-size scones. He hadn’t expected to get full on the stuff, but there was plenty for both of them. The tea itself wasn’t terrible.

Layla looked at him over the rim of her delicate china cup. “I didn’t peg you as a hot tea drinker.”

“It’s not so bad,” he said with a shrug.

Setting down her cup, she looked about the room. “This is all so much better than not bad. Better than the place we went for tea on my twelfth birthday...the party my dad missed.”

“Ah,” Vance said. The colonel hadn’t explained about that.

“Instead of taking four girls to tea, he went—” She broke off, shook her head. “I don’t remember now.”

“And Beauty Day? He skipped out on that, too?”

“No.” Her lips curved. “I think he added that entry because I was always after him to paint my fingernails and toenails when I was little.”

“Somehow I don’t see the colonel hunkering down with a tiny bottle and brush.”

“But I didn’t have a mom to do those things, so I persisted. It was one of the few times he out-and-out refused me.” She sighed, then picked up her cup, studying the contents as if she could read the scattering of leaves on the bottom. “But he made up for it today.”

“Yeah.”

She lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “
You
made it happen for me today. Thanks, Vance.”

There were tears in her eyes. They didn’t brim over, but they made those eyes shine, and it was like looking into freshly washed windows. Vance felt as if he could walk straight through the glass.

And he could see straight inside...of Layla. There was a chilly breeze on the back of his neck, a cold premonition of trouble ahead. But it didn’t impede his vision. There, plain as the nose on her face, was Layla’s tattered, vulnerable heart. Aching. So he ached, too.

Damn. He’d been trying to wind the clock backward...but come to think of it, perhaps he had. Because the fact was, it had always been like this between them, even when they
were
two actual strangers. There’d been the cold wind on his neck, the pretty woman with the big brown eyes, the attraction and the connection he’d felt from the instant they’d met.

* * *

V
ANCE WAS STILL BROODING
over his afternoon with Layla when Baxter showed up at Beach House No. 9 that night. He greeted his cousin with a nod, then led the way into the living room. It was dark beyond the sliding glass doors. The sky was clear, and he noted the half moon and the bright star to its right. Hell. As if he needed another reminder of the colonel’s daughter.

Baxter glanced around the room. “Uh? Addy? Layla?”

“They went for a drink at Captain Crow’s. Girls’ Night or something with Skye.”

It was too damn quiet with the women gone. But Vance had been all for it, shooing them out before the dinner dishes were done. Layla had studied him with those soft Bambi eyes of hers, and he’d turned away from the scrutiny. He didn’t want her catching a hint of the turmoil inside of him.

For some inconvenient, unfathomable reason, the exposure of her soft side only pulled harder at his sexual side. Yeah. That glimpse of her heart had made his cock hard and nothing he thought or did convinced the bad boy to lie down and behave.

“Classy, huh?” he murmured.

“Are you talking to me?” Bax asked. “And why haven’t you offered me a beer?”

His cousin’s testy tone caused Vance to give him a second look. Whoa. His cousin wore beat-up jeans, a T-shirt that was decorated with—paint splatters?—and a pair of rubber flip-flops. “Who are you and what have you done with Baxter Smith?” He waited a beat. “On second thought, just leave him wherever you stuffed him. You look a lot more fun.”

Baxter sent him a sour look. “I’ve never been fun.”

“We should do something about that right away,” Vance said, and headed for the kitchen. He ducked his head in the open door of the refrigerator. “Uh-oh. Out of brewskis.”

Hovering in the doorway, Baxter groaned. “Don’t tell me that.”

“No worries,” Vance said, and pushed his cousin back into the living room, toward the sliding doors. “We’ve got libations just up the beach.”

“Captain Crow’s?” Baxter frowned. “And interrupt Girls’ Night?”

“We won’t interrupt,” Vance said. “We’ll just have our own Manly Night. We’ll discuss sports stats and porn stars.”

Baxter rubbed his hand over his unshaven chin. Those whiskers were completely out of character. Something was definitely bothering his cousin, something bad, and Vance couldn’t in good conscience let that lie. That’s why he was going to take that hike up the beach. It wasn’t about getting closer to Layla, not at all.

Because he was still determined to ignore his clamoring libido. That he couldn’t evict her from his thoughts didn’t mean he had to pull her back into his bed.

It took little time to reach Captain Crow’s. Twinkling lights framed the roofline and the railings of the restaurant/bar. It was Surfing Saturday, according to the chalkboard set up at the entrance. Two TVs over the bar were playing baseball games, the other two showing surf movies. The music pouring from the speakers was a classic beach tune from Jan and Dean, “Surf City.” The drink specials were Longboard beer and double mai tais.

Vance found seats along the railing surrounding the deck that overlooked the ocean. Behind them were the tables, most of them full. He didn’t search the crowd for Layla.

Because Baxter was already surveying the knots of people. “I see them. Addy, Layla and Skye,” he said. “They’re back in the corner with girl drinks—something with rum, I guess.”

Vance experienced a small clutch of worry. Layla could hold her tequila, but rum? Maybe he should go check—

No. God. She was an adult. She didn’t need him supervising her night out. Sighing, Vance shook his head at the way Mr. Happy had perked up at the idea.

After ordering beers, he and his cousin both stared morosely into the distance. The waves came in long shallow spreads, fanning like spilled milk against the sand. The music switched to The Beach Boys’ “Wouldn’t It Be Nice.”

“I hate that song,” Bax muttered.

Eyebrows raised, Vance glanced over. “Okay. Does that mean you’re ready to talk about what’s eating you?”

“I blame it on my parents.”

Vance stared at him in shock as the longnecks were delivered. Baxter had always got on well with his folks, just like Fucking Perfect Fitz. Vance had been the family’s only agitator. “What did Uncle Roy and Aunt Alison do to ruin an iconic song of the 1960s for you?”

“I don’t mean they ruined the song for me. I mean they may have ruined
me
. Consider how badly they’ve skewed my worldview. They’re devoted to each other. Your folks, too. “

“How dare they,” Vance said, his voice mild.

Baxter pointed at him with his beer. “You can laugh, but I’m right. All that marital bliss can make a man expect things. Want things for himself.”

Vance groaned. “Are you going to tell me about the BSLS again? I already know you have a wedding with all the trimmings inked in on it somewhere.”

“Not before thirty-one,” Baxter said.

“There you go,” Vance answered, and clacked his beer bottle against his cousin’s. “You don’t need to stress about that for another couple of years. You can be the freewheeling happy bachelor you’ve always been for quite some time more.”

His cousin sent him a fulminating look, then glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the ladies. “I’m not happy.”

Vance followed the direction of his gaze to where the three women were gathered at a round table, including the spritelike blonde. Well. He’d sensed undercurrents that first day at Captain Crow’s and now it was clear to him. Baxter had something going with Addy—or rather, Baxter wanted something going with Addy but had been shut down. Beach House No. 9 was quite the hotbed of romantic tension this month, wasn’t it?

“I’m sorry, cuz,” Vance said. “You should be more like me. Unmoved by the influence of our parents’ marital accord. Embracing the single life with gusto.”

“Oh, really.” Baxter narrowed his eyes. “Wasn’t it you who were engaged not long ago?”

“Yes, but—”

“Are you saying it wasn’t because you saw the example of your folks’ marriage—”

“Blythe wasn’t about that,” Vance said, his voice going tight.

“Oh?” Baxter took a swig of his beer. “What was Blythe about?”

“Fitz.” Shocked that his brother’s name had come out of his mouth, Vance busied it by taking a long swallow from his bottle. Then another. When he finally set the beer down, he noticed Baxter was staring at him. “What?”

“You said Blythe was about Fitz.”

Shit, Bax had heard that. Vance sighed. “The first time I met her, you know what I thought?”

His cousin shook his head.

“I thought she was just Fitz’s type. He always goes for those impenetrable cool ones.” He huffed out a short laugh. “Maybe I have a new career as a matchmaker.”

“Yeah, the impenetrable, cool ones don’t seem a natural fit with you.”

Vance thought of Layla. Clutching at him when she had her bout of Ferris-fear. Slow-dancing, her warm body moving against his. Her simple enjoyment in the mani-pedi, pointing her toes for him to admire.
She
was a natural.