Bungalow Nights(13)

With a groan, he surged into the crowd after her, his gaze following the top of her head, but he lost even that when a pair of rollerbladers cut across his path. Forced to a halt, he turned in a circle, searching for the lacy camisole she wore with a denim skirt. Damn. It was stupid to feel panicked, but a shot of sick worry coursed through him, anyway.

What the hell had Colonel Parker done, putting Vance in charge of his darling daughter? He’d been “that rowdy and reckless Smith boy” from the age of four onward, and even though he’d grown out of most of that behavior—finally—Blythe’s defection had made it clear he still wasn’t responsible enough for any kind of commitment.

Hell, he obviously couldn’t hold on to a woman for fifteen minutes! With quick strides, he made his way to the wall beside the entrance to a small shop. Plastering his back to it, he peered down the long crowded walkway, trying to catch sight of Layla again.

Then he felt a hand pinch the sleeve of his T-shirt and yank him around, into the little store. It was littler than little, almost a closet, and filled with decals, keychains, cheap sunglasses and the woman he sought.

“There you are.” Layla was laughing softly, her voice breathless. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Annoyed by how relieved he felt, Vance grabbed up the darkest-of-dark lenses he could find, slipping them on his face to obscure her loveliness. Then he reached into his back pocket for his wallet and forked over five bucks to the clerk on the other side of a glass case that held Disney watches. Fakes, most likely. “You’re the one who wandered off,” he groused. He’d bet his bad temper showed on his face. “You need to stay in sight.”

He could feel her roll her eyes. “Sorry, Grandpa Vance. But I promise to find a nice policeman or another adult I can trust if we get separated again.”

“That’s not gonna happen.” With that, he took a firm grip on her hand and towed her back out into the sunshine.

“Hey,” she protested, her fingers wiggling like fish on a line, but even with the clumsy bulk of the wrist brace impeding his grip, he didn’t let go.

“Come on,” he said, tugging her into the mass of visitors.

With the two of them attached, though, they made less progress than before. The swarm of people was just that hard to navigate, or maybe it was Layla, who seemed to hang back even as he tried to move forward. He glanced down at her, noting the sudden faraway look on her face. Was there a problem?

Then it hit him. She had to be missing her dad. This was something she was supposed to be doing with him, after all. Vance couldn’t blame her for finding him a poor substitute.

He leaned nearer, close enough for the scent of Layla to reach him. It was her shampoo, he decided, as the wind stirred her hair and a lock of it caught in the bristle of whiskers on his unshaven cheek. He brushed it away with his free hand, the silky strands caressing the inner surfaces between two of his fingers. “Is everything okay?”

Pausing, she glanced up. Their faces were close, her mouth near enough to kiss. “Vance, I...” She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Of course she wasn’t. Her head turned away from his again and he saw she was staring at a boardwalk game, one of those carnival contests that gave you three chances to win for a dollar. He didn’t think she was actually seeing it, but an idea came, anyway. “Hey,” he said. “Would you like to try that?” He’d planned to hustle her down to the wheel ride, but now that seemed the wrong move. “You could win a stuffed animal.”

She slid him a look. “I already have a teddy bear.”

“You could win me a stuffed animal.” He squeezed her hand. “They’ve got Garfield the cat. My favorite.”

Before she could reply, he was steering her toward the booth. Money changed hands and the old guy running the game passed over three baseballs to Layla. Her expression bemused, she focused on the targets, three neon-painted cartoon figures just waiting to be knocked down. “You really want a Garfield?” she asked. “Because I’m pretty sure it’s going to cost you.”

Vance could see a little smile quivering at the corners of her lips. “Positive,” he said. He positively wanted to see that smile let loose, no matter what the price.

It took twenty-two dollars and the mercy of the game operator. By the time she finally clutched her prize, that grin he’d been after came with a touch of more-fool-you. “We could have bought one of these for half that much at the toy store,” she said, presenting the orange feline to him.

“Wouldn’t be the same,” he said, tucking it under one arm and reclaiming her hand. “Because this guy comes with the indelible knowledge that you have the throwing arm of a girl.”

She punched him in the shoulder as they headed down the pier again.

“You do that like a girl, too,” he said. “When you hit somebody you should curl your thumb over your fingers, not put it inside your fist.”

“Really?” She blinked. “I never knew that.”

“That’s why boys are so much better than girls.” He smiled at her little harumph and lowered his voice to murmur in her ear. “Stick with me, baby, I’ll teach you everything you’ve yet to learn.”

Her feet stumbled. Her gaze jerked toward his.

Just like that, the crowds evaporated. The sun seemed to shine on Layla like a beacon, burnishing the rich brown of her hair, adding a glow to the smooth curve of her naked shoulders. There was a flush on her cheeks and her mouth glistened when her tongue wet her top lip, then the bottom one.

Hell, Vance thought, a surge of lust coursing through him. It wrapped around his balls like a caress. His cock went heavy, then hard, and all he could think of was sex. Sex with Layla.

“Let’s go back to the car,” he murmured. There he could get his hands on her, run his fingertips against her throat, lick the slope of that golden shoulder, press his face between her breasts. His gaze flicked down to them and he saw the tight buds of her nipples pressing through her bra and the thin cotton of her top.

His belly tightened as he imagined turning his cheek and taking a nipple into his mouth, wetting the material with his tongue as he sucked it inside. “The car,” he said again, his voice low and tight. “We could be there in ten minutes.”

Her eyes widened. “And skip the Ferris wheel?”

The Ferris wheel? Oh, hell. The Ferris wheel. He was supposed to be playing Boy Scout and fulfilling a promise, not letting his imagination and his sex drive run wild.

Cursing himself, he dropped her hand like a hot potato and resumed striding onward, reminding himself of his earlier strategy. Resist her, dammit. And don’t look at her too long, talk to her too much, or breathe too deeply in her presence.

And for God’s sake, no touching!

Without glancing right or left, he led the way to the attraction at the west end of the pier. It had been the backdrop in movies and TV shows and maybe that added to its appeal. For whatever reason, the line was a zigzagger, one that would take some time and patience to get through. Resigned to it, Vance planted his feet behind the last group in the queue and prepared to endure.

“I guess it’s going to be a wait,” Layla said.

Vance grunted, keeping his gaze on the blue crown of the Dodgers baseball cap the guy in front of him was wearing. It was safer to pretend she wasn’t even there.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

The question instantly made him feel like an ass. It wasn’t her fault that he was horny and she was lovely. He shoved his hand through his hair, welcoming the clunk of his cast against his forehead. The small pain was not even close to what he deserved. “I’m fine,” he said, finally glancing over at her.

She was looking up at him with those big eyes of hers, puzzlement putting a crease between her brows. “Then what’s the problem?”

He wanted to bash his head all over again. Instead, he signaled to a vendor walking past and without asking first, bought her a paper cone topped with pink candy the height and consistency of a 1950s beehive hairdo. “Here,” he said, thrusting it at her. If she had something to eat she wouldn’t have a chance to question him further. He wouldn’t have to search for some half-baked answer to explain his mood.

Of course, fate was still conspiring against him. He supposed he could have bought a worse item for her to consume—a corn dog maybe?—but watching her pluck pieces of spun sugar from the cone and slide them into her mouth wasn’t soothing his lust any. After waving off an offer to share, he went back to staring at the Dodgers cap and shuffling his feet forward as the line moved ahead.

He was doing damn well with his not looking/not speaking/not breathing policy and then it was their turn to step into a rocking bucket. Vance climbed in first, then he glanced over as Layla lifted her foot...and froze. Her stricken gaze jerked to his face.

Uh-oh. “What’s the matter?”

“I...” She swallowed, hard.