Bungalow Nights (Beach House No. 9) by Christie Ridgway Read Free Book Online

quirked his lips. “It’s not.”
    It was the grin. That sheepish grin. Her skin flushed hot all over again as she felt her pulse start to pound at the tender skin of her wrists and at those sensitive hollows behind her knees. She could only stare at him and the lingering rueful smile on his face.
    Vance didn’t seem to notice. “What can I do to make it up to you?” He reached out and casually touched her hand.
    He shouldn’t do that, she thought, unable to move. Something was going on here, a situation she didn’t have control over, and she’d never wanted to believe this kind of thing would happen. You couldn’t choose? Without your permission this...this fever overcame you, or rather, reached out to you, or rather, exploded all around you...and you were at its mercy. Layla began to tremble.
    His long fingers curled over hers. The edge of his cast pressed into her skin but she barely registered it over the hot-cold shiver that shot toward her elbow. “Vance...”
    “I’m sorry,” he was saying, his voice light. “I’m a bad man.”
    And then her hand slipped from his to press his cheek. Why? Because he wasn’t a bad man, that was certain. There was a slight bristle against her palm, gritty, masculine, and the sensation pinballed more tingles to her toes and then to the top of her head. She didn’t move. She just held her soft flesh against the hard plane of his cheek.
    Their gazes met.
    She didn’t try to read anything into his because his expression had shut down and she wished she didn’t feel this way. Knowing what was going on in Vance’s mind didn’t seem like any kind of win for Layla. “Hey...” she finally said. Her voice was so hoarse she had to stop and lubricate her throat. “Um.”
    “Yeah?”
    Her hand slid away from his face. She saw his cheek muscle jump. “I have an idea.” She swallowed again. “A good idea.”
    “Oh?”
    She stood, jolting upward so fast she swayed a little. He reached to steady her, but didn’t make contact. Good. “We’re here for the month. My father wanted that. But we don’t have to...to...be in each other’s pockets.”
    His gaze was so blue it should have steadied her.
    But it was only more heat, not a cool, calm blue at all anymore. “Layla—”
    “We’ll live in the same house, but there’s plenty of room. We’ll go our separate ways. Live, uh, totally separate lives.”
    Now he touched her. The back of his fingers skimmed the flesh of her forearm. She felt it to the marrow. “No,” he said. “We can’t do that. If we’ve come this far, we’ve got to do it right. Because I made another promise, too.”
    * * *
    V ANCE CURSED HIMSELF for the wary look on Layla’s face. What the hell was wrong with him? He knew damn well her father wouldn’t approve of him messing up the agenda he’d laid out with this man-woman complication. The colonel had still considered his daughter a little girl, and Vance should be seeing her as the same.
    Except she’d been sitting so close a few minutes before, her womanly hip against the denim of his jeans, her pretty face smiling at him, so that when she’d said “cupcakes” his baser self had reared its prurient head and, well...
    Checked out her cupcakes.
    He didn’t allow his gaze to stray in that direction again, but his memory worked just fine and yes, she had very nice cupcakes.
    As if she could read his mind, she shuffled back a step, and he swung his feet off the lounge and onto the planks of the deck. “Let me explain—”
    “Not necessary,” Layla interjected. “Really. I think my ships-in-the-night plan is a good one.”
    Vance stifled a sigh. It was all his fault. He should have made an effort to get laid between leaving Afghanistan and moving into the beach house, but it honestly hadn’t occurred to him. Six months had passed since he’d opened Blythe’s Dear John letter, and it had served as an effective sexual appetite suppressant until yesterday. Until he’d caught sight of a