Bungalow Nights

chapter TWELVE



VANCE FOLLOWED HIS NOSE across the parking lot of Captain Crow’s toward the Karma Cupcakes truck. The scent of baking made his mouth water. An ocean breeze plastered the back of his shirt to his spine, displacing sweetness with a briny smell, and he wondered if he’d ever breathe in one or the other of those two aromas without thinking of this summer. Without thinking of Layla.

As he drew nearer, Phil Parker climbed out of the truck. Vance paused, a wave of guilt slapping at him. He hadn’t considered having to face the older man this morning. With the single purpose of getting things back on track with the niece, he hadn’t even remembered the uncle.

Phil glanced up as he seated himself at one of the bistro tables. He slid a dog-eared stack of travel guidebooks onto the tabletop. “Good morning,” he called with an easy smile. “Come join me.”

“I’ve come to collect Layla,” Vance replied. “I don’t really have the time.”

Phil pushed out the chair beside him with a sandal-clad foot. “I’m sure you can sit for a moment or two.”

Hell. Vance tried not to scowl as he lowered himself to the wrought-iron seat.

Phil smiled again. “So...how’re you two getting along?”

More guilt. Well, I got Layla to pretend to be my girlfriend. Worse, I ignored my scruples and listened to my inner horndog, Phil. I had wild monkey sex with your beautiful niece. Except wild monkey sex would have been less disturbing than what had really happened. He’d stroked her, enjoyed her, savored her. Even now he could feel the satin of her skin against his fingertips, hear the sweet need of her husky moans.

Instead of expressing any of that, though, he cleared his throat. “What does she say?”

“She’s been pretty quiet. I’m a little worried.”

His gut tightened. Disturbed by that visit from Fitz, Vance had kept clear of her for a couple days. That wasn’t exactly courteous behavior from a lover, no matter how temporary, how casual the hookup. But she hadn’t complained.

Instead, she’d just gone ahead with her usual routine without ever taking him to task for keeping to himself even more than usual.

No, until now he’d thought it was only him that was all messed up, still smelling her on his sheets, even though he’d changed them. Still remembering her pebbled nipple on his tongue, the rhythmic clasp of her body on his cock. The silk of her hair wound around his fingers. When she was in the same room with him he couldn’t think of anything but the taste of her.

That’s why he’d struck upon today’s plan. He was going to spin time backward, returning things to the way they were those first days at Beach House No. 9. They’d been two strangers then. On the forefront of his mind had been her father and fulfilling his promise to the man.

“The loss of my brother is eating at her,” Phil said, almost as if he’d read Vance’s mind. “Sometimes she goes still, and the sadness on her face...”

Damn, Vance thought, his gut tightening again. He didn’t want to be wondering or worrying about the state of her heart. It wasn’t his job to heal her in that way—in any way. His glance landed on one of the books in Phil’s stack. It was a Lonely Planet guidebook to Nepal, the cover showing Everest and a string of prayer flags, and it reminded him of the older man’s spiritual interests.

“You should talk to her,” he told her uncle. “Don’t you have some Buddha voodoo spell that will make it all better?”

Phil glanced down, picking at a frayed end of the macramé-and-wooden-bead bracelet he wore on his left wrist, then his gaze returned to Vance’s face. “Something tells me I’m not the one who has the magic right now.”

“Don’t look at me,” Vance said, pressing back in his chair. “What do I know about overcoming grief?”

“Buddhism teaches that you can’t overcome it,” Phil said.

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.”

The other man continued as if Vance hadn’t spoken. “And that there are two places grief can take you. Toward the negative—where you waste time desiring to undo the past or create an impossible future. Or toward the positive—where your grief gains you a new understanding of the transience of life. That gives you a greater appreciation for the world and a greater well of kindness for your fellow human beings.”

“Like I said,” Vance grumbled, “Buddha voodoo.”

Phil smiled. “I—”

But the truck’s door opened, interrupting him. Layla stepped out. Vance got to his feet. “There you are,” he said. “I’ve come to get you.”

In an instant, her expression turned guarded. “Why?”

Shit. Was Phil right? Her wary tone suggested there was something beneath the surface of her postsex laid-back demeanor. Damn woman was just too good at hiding her true emotions.

He scowled because now he felt like an ass for not looking beneath the convenient facade. “We need to work on the list today.”

“Oh,” she said, then hesitated, as if she was considering refusing him.

“Please,” Vance said.

Another hesitation. Then she sighed. “All right,” she finally answered. “Do I look okay?”

He didn’t bother checking. “You always look okay. Better than okay. You know that.”

“I mean for what we’re going to do.” There was a hint of annoyance in her voice. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”

This time he let his gaze linger on her. She must have a closetful of little summer dresses, he decided. Each and every one designed to make a man unable to forget the tempting slope of her shoulders, the golden smoothness of her long legs. This one was bright blue, sleeveless, with a decorative zipper down the middle that ran from the scooped neckline to the full skirt.

“I’m complimenting you, anyway,” Vance said gruffly, trying not to think of how easy it would be to peel it off of her. “You look great. Perfect for what I have scheduled.”

“Which is?”

“A surprise.”

She obligingly kept her mouth shut during the half-hour drive northward, though her gaze surveyed the snazzy beach town they entered with interest. That gaze became even more curious as he pulled into the parking lot of an elegant day spa just off the main boulevard.

“Beauty Day,” he said, slanting her a look.

Her brows came together. “What?”

“I’m not making this up. It’s an item on the Helmet List. Actually, I’m knocking off two. One is Beauty Day, and after that we’re going to have tea at a shop around the corner.”

Her confusion cleared. “Oh. Beauty Day.” She swallowed, hard.

Shit. Vance thought she might be fighting tears. Apparently what he’d considered an odd entry for the gruff colonel to put on the list meant something pretty profound to her. “Let’s go,” he said, reaching for the door. “You shouldn’t be late for your appointment.”

But she poked along after him, so he was forced to twine his fingers with hers. It was the first time he’d touched her since that morning after they’d had sex, and the usual sexual zing fired through his blood, heating the back of his neck and stirring his cock. Trying his best to ignore the reaction, he pulled her into the spa’s anteroom. It was quiet there, the only sound coming from a fountain in the corner, where water burbled over polished river rocks. The receptionist spoke in hushed tones and Vance followed suit, confirming Layla’s appointments for a facial and mani-pedi.

His companion didn’t say anything, but he sensed her amused surprise. “Mani-pedi,” he repeated, turning his head to narrow his eyes at her. “Yeah, I said it. I even know what it is, because I have a brain in my head and because Addy set this whole thing up for me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a man say mani-pedi before,” she mused, and then sucked on her cheeks as if she was trying not to smile.

“Twice,” he reminded her. Then he pointed his finger toward the door that led to the treatment rooms. “Now go. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

With a last amused glance at him, she followed instructions. Vance settled on a comfortable chair in the seating area and picked up a magazine. Her mood seemed more upbeat now, he decided, then frowned. No. Her mood was none of his concern.

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.

* * *

VANCE 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 F*cking 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.

“You’re right,” he told his cousin, staggered for a moment by a truth he’d never allowed himself to see. “Blythe wasn’t a good fit for me at all.”

“So why’d you go for her then?”

“F*ck, I don’t know,” Vance admitted, still nonplussed. “We’d been dating awhile, though we never actually slept together.” His motivations had not been driven by sex, and Blythe, in her still-waters way, had seemed fine with that.

“Oh.” Baxter’s eyes were wide.

“Yeah. Never went to bed with her.” The confession made him feel uncomfortable and maybe even idiotic. He started to say something else, then stopped.

“Spit it out, V.T.” Baxter nudged his leg with the edge of his rubber thong. “Because none of this sounds like you.”

On another sigh, Vance tried again. “We were going along, dating slow and steady, and then I was called back up. I thought, ‘Hey, why not?’ I knew Mom and Dad would love her. They’d consider her a steadying influence—”

“Screw that,” Bax said, straightening in his seat. “You had your wild times, but where you’ve been and what you’ve done since you enlisted...”

“The fact is, she was Fitz’s type,” Vance said, “so I think I saw her as my way back into the family fold.” He hadn’t been able to articulate that to himself at the time, but now, from a distance, he saw that it was true. Jesus. “Lousy reason to get engaged, huh?”

What had motivated Blythe to go along? She wasn’t the only woman who acted on the impulse, though. He’d had army buddies who’d made the same impetuous offer and received the same impetuous agreement from ladies they’d not known half as long. Hell, more than one couple of his acquaintance had entered into a quickie, day-before-deployment marriage.

Thank God it hadn’t gone that far for him and Blythe. And before long she’d realized Vance didn’t have his older brother’s chops and rejected him.

Baxter drained his beer and signaled the peace sign at their waitress to order two more. “If I wasn’t so miserable myself, I’d try to broker a settlement on your side of the family. Get some of you to wake up and others of you to start talking.”

Vance laughed as the waitress put new beers in front of them. “God, you can be officious and arrogant.”

“Prissy and pasty, too,” Baxter muttered. “However, I have developed a bit of kink in my sex life.”

“Whoa. Way better than talk of porn stars. Though I’m not sure I believe it.”

“Believe it,” Baxter said, then glanced over his shoulder toward Addy again.

Well, well, well, Vance thought. This should be interesting.

But his cousin’s eyes had gone to slits. “Who the hell is that?”

Vance looked around. Addy was on the dance floor, laughing up at some dark-haired guy who had his hands on her hips and was trying to encourage them to move. “I don’t know.”

“I do. That’s a firefighter. A dirty, no-good, f*cking first responder. Teague something.”

“They’re just dancing, Bax,” Vance said, and remembered with guilt how he’d pulled Layla away from another man on the Fourth of July at this very spot.

“A f*cking first responder. Everybody knows that gives a guy an advantage.”

Baxter had to be really upset, Vance thought, because he normally avoided cursing. Such verbal activity had never made it onto the BSLS. “Look, it’s no big deal.”

“Oh, yeah? Now he’s got Layla out there.”

Vance swiveled in his chair. His “natural” was certainly out on that dance floor, with her glowing, facial-ized face, her buffed fingernails and her moon-and-star toes. She’d changed into a rib-sticking tank top and a tight pair of jeans. The firefighter touched her like he’d been touching Addy, his palms on either side of Layla’s sweet hips, encouraging them to swivel.

“F*cking first responder.” Vance started to rise.

Then fell back onto his stool. She doesn’t need me supervising her night out. He repeated it twice more for good measure.

The words, though, didn’t do much good reining in his reckless instincts. They still urged him to peel that other guy’s hands off the girl, then sling her over his shoulder and take her home to his bed.

“We should go to their table,” Baxter suggested. “Give that guy the eye. Let him know they don’t need some dude with a hose to put out their fire.”

“I’m sure they’d really appreciate that,” he said dryly, trying to remember he’d matured from the days when he’d bumped chests with a high school rival for Marianne Kelly’s attention. In typical Vance Smith style, he’d brawled with the dude in the middle of biology class, instead of waiting until after school and choosing some off-campus location. They’d both been suspended for three days. For the remainder of the semester, his father had confiscated the car keys of his truck—though that didn’t stop Vance from totaling it ten months later.

Now Vance turned back around to face the ocean, while Baxter had given up all pretense of not watching the object of his affection. “Hell,” he muttered. “He’s buying all three women more drinks now. They’re smiling and laughing, even that serious one, Skye.”

“The nerve.”

“He’s whispering something in Layla’s ear.”

Shit. Vance pretended he was glued to his stool as he tried to hang on to his cool.

“Now they’re all getting up. It looks as if they’re going somewhere together, drinks in hand.” Baxter slid a sly look at Vance. “Do you think they’re going to have a ménage?”

Vance rolled his eyes. “You’re just needling me now, aren’t you?”

“Kind of. But they all look damn happy as they leave through the front exit. A first responder might not get all of them, but he could get one of them.”

And there was Layla, with her tattered heart. So lonely sometimes.

“Hell,” Vance said. He tried remembering there was Super Glue on the top surface of his stool. It wasn’t working. “I want her,” he told Baxter. “And I’m the one who’s going to get her.”

But before he could make a move, Addy was there, her green eyes anxious. “I thought I saw you guys here. You’d better come quick.”