Good God. Vance rolled his eyes skyward, to see the first stars shining above them. On the heels of a single kiss, she’d attempted the full monty with all the sentimentality of an officer drawing up combat plans in a war room. No wonder she’d been left unsatisfied. By a guy she liked okay.
“Frankly, now that I think of it, he probably wasn’t any more experienced than me. He’d moved around a lot, too, which cuts down on a person’s ability to get close to others. But I figured, as another army brat, that meant he wouldn’t become too attached to me.”
Good God, Vance thought again.
“Now you,” Layla said.
“Me...what?”
“Your first,” she said, sounding disgruntled. “I shared. Isn’t that what boyfriends and girlfriends do?”
Ignoring the boyfriends and girlfriends remark, he forced his mind away from Layla’s story and thought back. His first? “It wasn’t nearly as well planned as you’re describing, that’s for sure.”
“No?”
“It was more...impetuous. I had a rubber, mind you, and managed to remember to roll it on, but I’d had months of fooling around with Marianne Kelly before we did the deed when we were sixteen.”
With a little smile, he lay back on the blanket to stare up at that star-studded sky. Layla was hovering over him, her features obscured by the darkness. “Maybe that’s where I went wrong,” she said, a mournful note in her voice. Then she positioned herself beside him, her head pillowed by one arm, her shoulder brushing his. “No fooling around before doing the deed.”
Vance could guarantee it. Still smiling, he thought of those heady hours with his high school girlfriend. No empty houses, no satiny nightgowns, no cold-blooded arrangements. “We snatched time together wherever we could. In the front seat of my first car. On the couch at her house, with her parents just a room away. She even braved the avocado grove once.”
“No,” Layla said, clearly disbelieving. “No girl gets naked when there’re spiders around.”
He clucked his tongue. “Layla, Layla, Layla. There’s fun to be had over clothes. Or by sneaking a hand under them.”
They were lying so close and it was so quiet that he heard her breath catch. His body went on sudden alert as she shivered. He rolled his head toward her. “Cold?” he asked, his voice low.
She shivered again. “A little.”
He reached for the second blanket that was puddled near their feet and pulled it upward, over their bodies. As he drew it toward Layla’s chin, the side of his pinkie brushed her breast. She twitched, and her breath hiccupped again.
Vance’s hand stilled. A breeze found the back of his neck but it was nothing against the new heat pouring through his body. He should stand up now, he thought. It might be a little awkward with the sudden stiffness poking at the placket of his jeans, but the two of them should probably leave here, where they felt as though they were the only two people in the world. Return to Beach House No. 9...
Where, since Addy was out for the evening, they’d be the only two people within the four walls.
Still, maybe between the cliff top and the confines of the house, he’d manage to corral this irrepressible lust, this shouting, insistent, reckless need to touch her, kiss her, teach her what he knew.
Hell! His good sense knew he couldn’t afford that complication.
But then Layla made the internal argument moot.
Her fingers found his. Not to brush them away, but to press them to the sweet, swelling mound of her breast. Sweet Christ. Four days of avoidance, four days of good intentions and four days hoping to cool the smoldering tension disappeared in a burst of steam.
With a groan, he surrendered to the goodness of her under his hand. He rolled to his side, ignoring the awkwardness of the forearm cast between them, and fastened his mouth to hers. She opened instantly, and he painted the inner surface of that heavy upper lip with his tongue. Her body arched, and the stiff jut of her hard nipple was evident under her shirt and bra. He circled it with two fingertips as he kissed her more deeply, plunging now, driving into the wet heat.
She angled toward his body, offering herself to him. His lips drew away from her and traveled across her cheek, finding the hollow behind her ear. He was breathing heavily and when he touched his tongue there, he could feel her reaction to his hot breath. Her skin rose in goose bumps and he roamed over them, wetting them.
“There’s fun to be had over clothes,” he murmured again. “Or by sneaking a hand under them.” Then he slid his hand from her breast and burrowed it beneath the hem of her shirt.
She jerked as his touch found the bare flesh of her midriff. Her head twisted, her mouth seeking his. Her kiss was desperate, full of gratifying need, as he finger-walked up her ribs. One of his knuckles touched the underside of her breast and they both moaned.
Her bra was of a thin, stretchy material. He skated across it until he found the upper edge. Then, in a quick yank, he pulled the fabric beneath the plump rise. Layla stilled, and then she arched toward him, sucking on his tongue when he thrust it inside her mouth.
Her intense, instant reaction was heady stuff. He loved the way she clutched his shoulders, the bite of her nails testament to her need. He thumbed the bare nipple, then gently pinched it between two knuckles. Layla’s legs moved, restless, and he threw his top thigh over them, making her his captive. She moaned, her body thrashing a little as if to test the bond, but he didn’t give way.
The restraint seemed to accelerate her desire. Little sounds came from deep in her throat, short moans that were their own demand. Vance knew she wasn’t going with any plan right now, wasn’t thinking of tactics or strategy; she was moving on impulse, letting her yearning build to a heedless pace, finding the power in being passionate. Impetuous.
Like he had been for so long, Vance thought. And it wasn’t always bad, was it? But he was in control now, fascinated, and also committed to nurturing the craving he felt in the thrumming quiver of her lovely body.
“Vance,” she moaned, then bit at his lower lip as if she couldn’t help herself. “Oh, God.”
He damned the awkward arm cast. There were so many places he wanted to touch her! Pushing her flat to her back again, he shifted under the blanket, then stopped teasing her breast to raise the hem of her shirt. His mouth found the naked nipple and he licked it, reveling in her husky groan.
The vibrations of it went through his fingertips as he insinuated them beneath the waistband of her sweats. Her stomach muscles jittered at his touch and she went still again. Vance jerked his mouth from her, needing to suck in some harsh breaths as he found the elastic band of her panties, riding low on her hips.
“Oh, God,” Layla said again, lifting into his touch.
He allowed her to part her legs, and then he pressed the weight of his thigh back across them. She stilled again, and he could sense the need building inside of her. “That’s right,” he whispered against her breast. “Let me touch you. Let me make it good.”
Complications. The word whispered through his mind, but he pushed it away. This was simple. So simple. Her heated skin beneath his fingers, against his tongue. Her desire, which she’d tried to experience through agendas and arrangements, under his control now. He teased it, stoked it, blowing on the flame to create the fire that would sweep over her.
It was a...a kindness. Not a complication.
His tongue curled around her nipple as his fingertips slid beneath her panties. He parted her for his sure touch, stroking into the soft, layered petals. She moaned when he discovered her wetness. He reveled in it, his heart pounding hard and fast, his fingertips drenched in her liquid heat. Driven himself now, he yanked his hand from beneath her sweatpants and took it to his mouth, tasting her essence.
She made an urgent, almost panicked noise.
“Shh,” he soothed, then swiped his tongue against his fingertips once more. He shifted to kiss her again, sharing the flavor of her need. She went a little wild, her body arching high, and he pressed
his thigh more firmly against her twitching legs. That urgent noise came from her throat again, muffled now by his mouth, and he took the hint, sliding his hand low again, against her belly, under her panties, to the knot of nerves at the apex of her sex.
He rubbed there, circled, toyed, tapped. Then rubbed again.
And she went wild.
It was a beautiful thing, all he’d wanted for the woman who’d never fooled around. Who had efficiently sought out sex without being driven by the hot-blooded need to climax. He took her orgasmic cries into his mouth as her body shook against his.
He gentled his kiss and his touch as she calmed. Her breathing slowed and her lashes swept up, her gaze on his face. They looked at each other, and reality whomped Vance on the side of the head.
Oh, hell. With a silent groan and an aching body, he rolled to his back beside her, no longer touching her. What a way to lose his head!
She was so sweet and tempting and desirable and...
He gritted his teeth. And off-limits.
Layla cleared her throat, a nervous sound. “Um, hey. Do you... Don’t you...” Her fingers brushed his arm. “We can—”
“No,” Vance said. “I— No.”
“But—”
“It just seems smarter to keep it simpler, don’t you think?”
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.
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“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.
Bungalow Nights (Beach House No. 9) Page 16