Bungalow Nights (Beach House No. 9)

by Christie Ridgway

  God. Blowing out a breath, Vance shoved his hands in his pockets, strangely nonplussed. “I...I don’t know what to say.” He hadn’t expected to hear anything like this from his father, so the script he’d worked out in his head wasn’t right any longer.

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  But he did. His days as a combat medic had done wonders for him as a man, but that career hadn’t been his first dream...nor was it the one he had now. In order to attain it, he’d have to do as Baxter advised and say what he wanted. Vance took his hands from his pockets, spread out his fingers then curled them again to shove them back in his pants. Okay, he was stalling.

  Don’t scuttle your second chances.

  All right. He’d take his own advice. “I’m going to ask again, Dad. It’s been a few years and I’m hoping your answer will be different this time.”

  His father stayed silent, but tension radiated from him.

  Vance felt his own muscles tighten. His chest hurt a little as he sucked in another breath. “With Baxter leaving, Smith & Sons Foods is down a son. I was hoping you could find a place for me in the company.”

  A long moment of silence passed. “You see Fitz moving into Baxter’s work and you doing Fitz’s—as well as the grove management tasks?” his father finally asked.

  “Bax,” Vance muttered, like a curse. Clearly he’d been talking to the family about this already. “Well, I did the management for the Ochoas. GreenWise is okay, but—”

  “They’re not a Smith. They don’t have Smith & Sons Foods as a first priority.”

  “It would be my first priority.” It was what he’d wanted since he was first following Granddad around, begging to be lifted high to pick the first fruit of the season.

  “It’s hard to be one of a pair of brothers,” his father said slowly. “Don’t think I don’t realize that. Remember, I was raised with your uncle Roy. You get labeled within your family. Within your community. It’s not always fair.”

  Bemused, Vance narrowed his eyes, trying to see his father’s expression in the dark. “What label did you get?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” his dad said. “What matters is...is that this family heals. That we bring you back home, son.”

  Vance wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Does that mean I’m in?”

  “Your uncle and your brother and I already discussed it. Frankly, Baxter insisted we consider the possibility you’d join us. But I wasn’t convinced it was something you wanted.”

  Only all my life. “I do, Dad. I do.” He hesitated, then got the last item off his chest. “And I want you to know I understand why you refused to let me in all those years ago. I was a screwup and I couldn’t be trusted. But I won’t let you down now.”

  “Son.” His father hung his head. “I think I let you down. There were other ways I could have handled that moment...and many after. Your mother says I have a stubborn streak.”

  “Like father, like son.”

  And this time when they laughed, it wasn’t strained.

  Vance slid his hand from his pocket. “Shake?”

  His father’s palm met his and then he reeled Vance in. The hug was hard, and his father’s free hand gave his short hair a brisk rub. “We’ll be ready for you when you’re free to come home.”

  “I don’t have to go back to the army.”

  The older Smith pushed away. “What? Really?”

  “I could go. But I was told that my injuries would allow me a medical discharge if I asked for it. I will.” He wasn’t conflicted about the decision at all, he realized. It was time to get out. Helping those kids today had opened his eyes and maybe even given him the permission to do so.

  And there was that new, clear path ahead. He was more than ready for a smooth ride.

  His father yanked him into another embrace. “Your mother will be over the moon,” he said gruffly. Then he added, “I love you, son.”

  Vance breathed deep of the dark night and let the sense of rightness put down roots in his soul. This was the life he was meant to live. His future was settled now, and a new calm settled over him. He and the avocados would hum well into the future, he thought, healthy and strong.

  They headed back a few quiet minutes later. As they approached the French doors leading to the house, Vance slowed, absorbing the tableau provided by the well-lit billiards room.

  His uncle and brother were still gathered around the play table, but they had turned their backs to it as his mother and aunt came in bearing trays of coffee and dessert. Blythe moved to take a plate that she apparently planned to share with Fitz—they, Vance thought, would be fucking perfect together. His uncle was bent over the offerings, probably trying to decide which was the largest slice of chocolate cake.

  “Dad,” Vance said, still watching. “I gotta know. How were you and Uncle Roy labeled?”

  “Uh...”

  Vance elbowed the older man. “C’mon.”

  “Fine.” William sounded disgruntled. “I was the serious brother, while Roy was known as the funny one. The life of any party. And it ticked me off, okay? I had this great impression I did of Robert De Niro—” He broke off when Vance hooted with laughter.

  “Sorry, Dad,” he said, trying to stifle it. “But you? Robert De Niro?”

  “All right,” his father conceded. “It was actually a terrible impression. Still... Hey, where’s your girl?”

  Vance pointed to the farthest corner of the room where Layla was curled up on a leather chair, a magazine on her lap. Shit. That wasn’t a happy expression on her face, he thought. He shouldn’t have left her by herself for so long.

  “I like her, Vance,” his dad said. “She’s a very good choice.”

  Vance opened his mouth to come clean about Layla, too. They weren’t really anything to each other...but then he saw her head come up, her attention shifting across the room to where his family stood in that tight group, laughing together over something his uncle, the funny brother, had said. The yearning on her face was easy to read—and pierced his heart.

  It cracked open as he watched her, sitting alone, apart, outside that small circle of people. Sweet Lord. His palm pressed, hard, over his unlocked and aching heart as a new, insistent need surged in his chest. He wanted to give them to her, Vance realized. He wanted to give her his family.

  He wanted to be her family. Tied to her forever.

  Because the idea of parting from her was excruciating. Her natural beauty, her joy in things as simple as cupcakes and sandcastles, the way she made him laugh—so often at himself—lightened every day. She’d become his sunshine, he thought, her warmth and brightness making him damn glad to be alive.

  And on those occasions when her ordinarily sunny nature was shadowed by sadness, he wanted to be the one to hold her, comforting her during the darker times. He knew he’d be good at it, just as she was so good for him.

  His breath caught. Damn, he thought, astonished, I’ve gone and done it.

  I’ve gone and fallen in love with her.

  “Are you going to tell everyone tonight?” his dad asked.

  No! God, no, Vance thought, panicking a little. Being in love shocked the hell out of him. His mind could hardly believe the words, let alone say them. His pulse rocketed. “I don’t think—”

  “Your mother will be so relieved to know you’re staying home and joining the business. I predict double desserts.”

  His heartbeat slowed some. “Oh. Okay. Yeah. We can talk about that.”

  Would he have a talk with Layla, too? A private, cards-on-the-table conversation? But maybe it was better if he didn’t—he was just at the beginning of a new phase of his life, after all, and he could give it some time, see how he felt in a few days, weeks, months. Wait a while before putting his heart on the line.

  Yeah, he told himself, almost relieved. Being in love didn’t demand declaring it.

  Except...

  Except when it did.

  Maybe Baxter was right again, Vance thought, watching
as his aunt kissed her husband’s cheek and Blythe fed Fitz a piece of cake from her fork. All that marital bliss made a man expect things. Want things for himself.

  And he wanted all things with Layla, his brown-eyed girl, to the marrow of his bones. When had she found her way so deeply inside him? Last night, when she’d mourned for her father in his arms? The day she’d come out of the spa and pointed her newly painted toes in girly pleasure? Or was it the morning after they’d first made love, when they’d shared a moment of quiet companionship and a cup of coffee?

  Whatever the case, his future wasn’t going to be complete without her in it.

  Wouldn’t you know? he thought, with a rueful shake of his head. Just when the track ahead appeared clear and smooth, his life had gone right off the rails.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  RIDING BACK TO BEACH HOUSE NO. 9, Layla regretted the two glasses of champagne she’d tossed back after Vance had announced his impending return to the family business. She’d already had wine with dinner, hoping that alcohol could smooth her jagged emotions. Under the circumstances, who wouldn’t be feeling more than a little rocky? Minutes after acknowledging she might have fallen in love with Vance, she’d almost been witness to his death.

  Maybe she made a little sound of distress, because he glanced over at her. “Are you okay?”

  She would be, she told herself. Just as soon as she managed to reclassify her feelings for him. It wasn’t love, she’d decided after that first fizzy glass of champagne. It was infatuation. By morning, after a night’s sleep alone in bed, she’d be sure of that.

  “Layla?”

  “I’m...I’m just thinking of those kids,” she lied. “I hope they’re all right.”

  “I thought you were there,” he answered, puzzlement in his voice, “when the driver’s dad called and reported that his son and the other two are going to fully recover. They have bumps and bruises and Marshall broke a leg, but all of them will heal.”

  “That’s right,” she replied, resting her head against the back of the seat. “I remember now.”

  “You’re tired,” Vance said, and he reached over to caress her cheek with his thumb. “Close your eyes and take a nap until we get to Crescent Cove. I’d like us to have a talk when we’re back at the beach house.”

  Talk. With a mental groan, she closed her eyes, pretending sleep had already struck. She wasn’t about to agree to a talk. Having a conversation when she felt this vulnerable could be a disaster. What if she let slip the fanciful idea that had invaded her heart? By tomorrow she’d have the roots yanked free, but tonight she didn’t have the strength to do the job.

  Pretense turned into reality, she discovered, because she did doze off. For how long, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she was roused from sleep by Vance’s hand on her shoulder. He had her passenger door open and was leaning in. “Layla,” he said, brushing her hair off her face. “Wake up.”

  Still groggy, she got to her feet. He wrapped an arm around her waist to lead her into the house. She allowed it; the quicker she got inside, the quicker she could be alone behind her own bedroom door.

  But instead of releasing her once they crossed the threshold, he continued holding her tight as he guided her into the dimly lit living room. Then, finally, he dropped his arm. Immediately Layla started edging toward the staircase. She’d take Addy’s room, empty now that she was staying at Baxter’s. A floor away would be a good start at distance.

  Would Vance let her go without a word, or would she have to define her reasons for sleeping alone? Snoring, she thought again. There was always the excuse that he snored.

  He crossed to the fireplace, going to his haunches to turn on the gas. Blue flames ignited, catching the kindling stacked on the grate. “You were pretty quiet about my decision to leave the army and join the family company,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder.

  She froze. “Uh...I’m so glad for you.” She hadn’t expressed that? His announcement had been met by happy exclamations from his family, followed by even happier tears coursing down his mother’s face. Layla hadn’t considered it her place to comment then. Because...because she’d known it had nothing to do with her.

  Though relief couldn’t even begin to describe how she’d felt at the idea that he’d seen his last of combat. Emotion tightened her throat. “I’m so truly, truly glad.”

  “That’s good.”

  The fire crackled, and he stayed low, staring into it. Unnerved by his stillness, she spoke to his broad back. “So I think I’ll just—”

  “I really want to talk.” He rose, but didn’t turn, and there was a new tension emanating from him.

  Layla frowned at his stiff shoulders and rigid pose. Talk about what, exactly? Then the answer came to her in a rush. Talk about goodbye, of course. Without his return to the army, he’d feel it necessary to reestablish they still had one of those coming. And soon.

  “There’s no need,” she said, trying to sound offhand. Her feet restarted their shuffle toward the staircase. “I’m going to bed upstairs.”

  His body turned in an instant. “What? Why?”

  “I... Well...” The goodbye, she tried to tell him with her eyes. I get it. We don’t have to discuss it to death.

  But then he was in front of her, his big, warm hands cupping her face. “I don’t want you to go, Layla. Stay with me.”

  No! Because then she’d want to stay with him forever. Still, her traitorous body swayed toward his. He gathered her close to his wide chest, then leaned down to press a gentle kiss on her lips.

  “Yeah,” he said, his breath warm against her face. “Stay with me by the fire and we’ll talk.”

  Where had her willpower gone? But it had started the day squishy, and all the emotional events had only pummeled it into further submission. Resigned, she let herself be drawn to the couch and pulled down on the cushions next to Vance. He kept her close, though his gaze focused on the fire.

  He’d been tense a moment before, but now she felt his...hesitation? Uncertainty?

  Yeah, it wouldn’t be easy to remind someone she shouldn’t harbor false hopes. That they were both moving on, that this monthlong interlude was a mere pause in their real, but separate lives.

  As his silence continued, the night seemed to wrap around them. There was the crackling fire, the background shush of the unceasing surf, their breaths, mingling like they would never do again. Layla’s eyes stung and if there was one thing that she’d regret most about her stay at Beach House No. 9, it was how the weeks had peeled away her outer layer of strength. Tears were so close to the surface now.

  Yet she didn’t protest when his arms gathered her closer. She found her cheek pressed against his chest, his heavy heartbeat in her ear. Steady. Sure.

  She could have lost him today. That moment when he’d been lying in the puddle of gasoline and looking at her with such anxious urgency was burned forever in her memory. Go, Layla, he’d said. Go on.

  Those could have been his last words to her.

  Those could have been his very last words ever.

  Her heart seized, her veins filling with a cold horror. She’d been almost numb before, and the wine and champagne had helped, but now the fear overtook her and her body began to shake.

  She reminded herself he was fine. His heartbeat was unchanged. But she splayed her hand on his chest, trying to convince herself he was as warm and solid as always. Another person she cared for hadn’t been lost.

  Panic continued to rattle her bones.

  “Layla?” Vance turned her in his arms so he could study her face. “You’re shivering. What’s the matter? Cold again?”

  “Not this time,” she said, certain only one thing would quell her sudden anxiety. “Take me to bed.”

  “Layla...”

  “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” she added hastily.

  He winced. “Layla—”

  “Other than you’re alive. I want to feel that you’re alive. I need to feel you’re alive.”
/>   His thumb ran over her mouth. “Let’s talk first.”

  “No.” Words weren’t her friend tonight. She didn’t need a discussion of their nonfuture and she didn’t want him teasing her with his raunchy routine in bed. She loved that, he knew she did, but if Vance took her down, took her too deep into desire, she might say the very wrong thing.

  This time, she wanted to drift atop the emotion and only use their bodies to reassure herself that he was whole and here and hers this one last time.

  “Please, Vance.”

  Instead of answering, he used his thumb on her lips again, and she nipped at it, then took it fully in her mouth. She sucked, swirling her tongue over the pad, and felt his body tighten everywhere.

  He tasted good, and she felt dizzy with the flavor of the man. Her shivering stopped as her skin heated under her clothes, the cotton feeling too rough against the tender skin of her belly and at the hollow that was the small of her back. She’d zipped a hoodie over her sundress and she unfastened it now, still using her lips and mouth to suckle Vance’s thumb.

  His nostrils were flared, his cheekbones pressing hard against his skin, its color a soft rose-gold in the firelight. His gaze followed her as she released him to stand, then he watched in a clearly stunned silence as she shed the sweatshirt, kicked off her shoes, whipped the stretchy cotton sundress over her head.

  Even the panties were too much, so she shoved those off her hips and felt the fire’s warmth on her bare bottom.

  “Jesus, Layla,” Vance said. “Sweetheart...”

  But the word drifted to nothing as she knelt between his knees and went to work on opening his jeans. He looked astounded, but then she was, too. In their sex she’d never been the aggressor, and maybe it would balance the scales. She wanted to have him at her mercy now, as she’d been at his since the very first time they’d touched.

  Her hands fumbled with the denim and soft boxers beneath, but she caught her lower lip between her teeth and persevered. He was hard and hot beneath the material, she could feel him. She wanted that! And she made a little sound of frustration as she couldn’t find a way to bare him.