Bungalow Nights(42)

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.