Bungalow Nights(32)
She cleared her throat. “Sure, but it doesn’t seem fair—”
“I’ll be fine.” Tortured, but he deserved it. With a surreptitious movement he made an adjustment to his still-tight jeans. Yeah, he was going to hurt for a while, but it was a fitting punishment for letting his own impulses get away from himself. For allowing Layla to come, thus creating only more complications.
* * *
MIDMORNING OF PICNIC DAY, Layla let Vance drive the Karma Cupcakes truck to the Smith ranch and wished she’d roped Addy into attending, as well. If the other woman had also been in the vehicle, Layla would have had a cheerful companion. Someone to talk to.
Someone who wasn’t brooding in silence.
The silent brooder was Vance, of course, and she might entirely chalk it up to the upcoming interaction with his family if he hadn’t been in a distinctly preoccupied mood since that night they’d watched for the green flash. Her stomach tightened at the memory of what had gone on under the blanket, and she snuck a look at the stony-faced man behind the wheel.
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 cupcake 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.