Bungalow Nights(49)

Layla looked at the couple. “Is that why you’re here? You’re really going to say ‘I do’ at No. 9 next month?”

“Any longer might give my honey-pie time to come to her senses,” Griffin said.

Jane smiled at him. “I keep telling you, chili-dog, with a ring or without one, I’ll still be your grammar girl.” Then they both laughed as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hair.

Vance shook his head at them. “I’m too polite to retch at those nicknames, Griff.”

“They started as insults,” Jane confided, “but now they’ve kind of grown on us. More Beach House No. 9 magic, I guess.”

“Speaking of which,” Griffin said, turning to Skye, “we’re sure this place will be available on the wedding date, right? Have you heard any more from the mysterious August tenant who went AWOL?”

“Yes. The balance was paid, finally. And I informed Mr. Fenton Hardy that I’d waive his late fee in exchange for the use of this place on the last weekend in August.”

An odd expression crossed Griffin’s face. “Did you say Fenton Hardy?”

Skye’s brows came together. “Yes. Do you know him?”

He glanced at his fiancée, who went still for a moment and then opened her mouth. “Isn’t that—”

“A really fortuitous turn of events,” Griffin said over her, and then he turned to gaze about the deck. “I’m sure we’ll have enough room here. It’s going to be very small. A few friends, family.”

Jane nodded, her smile aimed first at Griffin and then at Skye and Layla. “And we’re accustomed to small, since we’re living together in my tiny one-bedroom until we find the perfect bigger place—we hope near the beach.” Her voice turned more casual. “Have you heard from Gage lately, Skye? We don’t have a clue as to whether he’ll make it back for the nuptials.”

The other woman blinked, and her hand crept to her stomach. “You...you think there’s a chance he might be in the States next month?”

Jane flicked a glance at Griffin, then shrugged. “You hear from him more than anyone. What’s your opinion?”

“His last letter didn’t say a thing about it.” Skye bit her lip. “He mentioned he had a new contact, was hoping to take a trip into territory he hadn’t been to before. Nothing about returning here.”

“Well—” Griffin began.

“He can’t come to Crescent Cove.” The words rushed from Skye. “I mean, he’d never like it here. Not anymore.” Then, clearly flustered, she sped toward the steps and was gone.

“I don’t think I understand,” Layla said.

Jane grimaced. “I don’t think any of us do, including Gage. He’s been exchanging letters with Skye for months. She’s clearly smitten—but clearly terrified by the idea, too.”

“Why?”

“For good reason,” Griffin said. “My twin lives for hard-edged excitement. Skye has too much of a soft underbelly. She’ll get hurt.”

Jane sighed. “People warned me away from you, too.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “People? Like who?”

“Oh, that’s right, it was you.” She grinned at him.

“A man can change,” he grumbled.

“So might Gage,” Jane pointed out. “Especially if he’s exposed to the Beach House No. 9 magic.”

Vance groaned. “Feeling the need to retch again.”

Jane laughed and threaded her arm through Griffin’s. “We can’t have that.” She tilted her head toward Layla. “Would you like to see the photographs? They’re inside the house. You can keep any you like.”

“I...” She swallowed. “Okay.”

The couple moved toward the sliding glass door, but Vance held Layla back. He turned her to face him. “Really. Are you okay? Last night...”

Heat flowed up her neck to her face. “Do we have to talk about it?”

A smile slowly spread across his face. “‘Talking about it’ seems to work well for us.”

“Vance.”

He leaned in and took her mouth in a searing kiss. Then his fingertips floated over the small bump on her scalp. “Head okay?”

At her nod, his hand moved lower, his thumb exploring beneath the open collar of her shirt to touch a place low on the side of her throat. “Did I leave a bruise?”

The heat was everywhere now, prickling beneath the hair on her head, tickling the sensitive backs of her knees. She took hold of him, tucking her fingertips under the waistband of his jeans at his sides so she didn’t fall to the deck where her melting body would slide between the cracks in the floorboards to be lost forever.

Maybe that would be best. It would certainly be better than falling for Vance, a soldier, like her father. A man who’d be gone from her life in less than two weeks.

“Do you really want to see the photos?” he asked now. “They’ll understand if it’s too much.”

Colonel Parker’s daughter could face them, Layla told herself, and straightened her shoulders. No more melting, under any circumstances. “I do. I want to see them.”

Vance touched his lips to hers, just brief contact. “I looked already. Smiles and laughter. Nothing upsetting.”

He’d looked at them for her, she realized. Checked them over, so she could feel confident there would be no image that would startle or disturb her. She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed his chin, touched by his consideration. “Let’s go.”

Inside the house, there were a dozen or so photographs spread across the coffee table, most five-by-sevens, some larger. Layla sank to the cushions, her gaze moving slowly over them. “Oh,” she said, with a little smile, and glanced at Vance, who took the seat beside her. “There’s Dad playing chess.”

“He did it often,” Griffin said. “With anyone who’d take the other side of the board.”

Her father looked so handsome, she thought. Tanned, hair regulation short, a little thin, perhaps, but he’d always been a little thin.

Another showed him bent over a battered desk. In a different shot he was throwing a horseshoe. Each one showed Colonel Parker at work or at rest, looking his usual capable, calm self.

Her hand moved to reveal one picture that was half-hidden. Vance. Her fingers froze. In the shot, he was kicked back on a bunk, laughing. His face was a little dirty, his hair a little sweaty, but it was him, finding humor even though there was a gun slung from a peg just within reach.

Vance, at war.

“Layla, what’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She kept staring at the photograph. “May I have them?” she asked Griffin. “May I have them all?”

“Of course. We brought them for you.”

She stacked them carefully, putting Vance’s on top. The visitors were preparing to leave, calling for their dog, Private, talking to Vance about the war memoir Griffin was currently writing, which apparently had brought him and Jane together at Beach House No. 9 in the first place. Only half listening, Layla finally returned to the present as the engaged couple bid her goodbye.

She stood and, with Vance, walked them to the front door. When they made it back to the living room, her gaze immediately fell on that image of him. The dirty face. The laughing grin. The gun.

Vance, at war.

She was definitely too smart to fall in love with him. But that didn’t stop her from suddenly reaching for him. Putting her arms around his lean waist, she hugged his big body close.

“What?” He smiled down at her. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” She was safe now, wasn’t she?

His mouth met hers in a kiss that went from warm to wild in mere seconds. Gasping, she had to pull away. “Vance.”

“I like the way you say that, all breathless and needy.” He gave her another knowing smile. “You’re blushing again.”

“It’s ridiculous of me, I know. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a healthy bout of consensual sex,” she said, knowing she sounded prim but unable to help it.

He laughed. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“I’m annoyed with myself for feeling embarrassed.”

Vance laughed again, dark and low as they both saw Addy push open the glass slider. “I’m going to embarrass you again as soon as I can get you alone,” he said in her ear. “And then all night long.”

Feeling her flush deepen, Layla sketched a wave at Addy and turned back to collect the photos. She’d weathered this morning-after better than she’d thought. The pictures would make sure she remembered not to fall for a soldier. So nothing had changed as a result of last night, after all. Feeling eyes on her, she glanced back. Vance, watching her, with definite lascivious thoughts in mind.