Bungalow Nights (Beach House No. 9) (41 page)

His tongue turned gentle then, soft and adoring on the delicate tissue, licking upward until he could lap at the little bud. She moaned and he lashed it now, holding her still while her voice went hoarse with need. And then...then, he sucked, taking it between his lips and relishing it with a thoroughness that drew all the pleasure from each cell in her body toward that small point. She felt herself sliding again, spiraling, until she was surrounded by soft light and the ocean’s pulsing breath and—bliss...bliss...bliss.

It was as if her climax unleashed something in him. He went almost ferocious, his teeth grazing her hipbones, his mouth burning her belly. His hands were hot, too, cupping her breasts and squeezing her nipples until she was writhing on the sheets again, his wildness contagious. His mouth fell onto hers and the kiss was wet and desperate and she sucked on his tongue again, tasting herself and him, a heady combination.

Her hand slid down his chest to find his erection but his hips reared back. “God, too close,” he muttered.

So she let him put on the condom and guide himself into her body, her sex open and welcome. They both groaned as he infiltrated, a sensual assault by degrees, until he was fully inside her. One arm came under her hips, tilting them up so he gained another searing degree. Then he began moving, in powerful and deep strokes from which she had no defense.

“Layla,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

She wound her legs around his hips, allowing him everything, her body his, her heart the same. It terrified her, this feeling that she’d unlocked her own doors and thrown them wide for him to ransack. Yet she felt herself rising to meet him again, another climax building.

Still thrusting, Vance slid a hand between them and stroked her, playing over the sensitized knot of nerves. She gasped, and then the orgasm crashed upon her like love had—without permission. Her cry was echoed by Vance’s groan, and he shuddered in her arms, his own crisis shaking the entire bed.

In the aftermath, his arms gathered her against his chest. Layla’s heart still pumped in an unsteady rhythm, and then, oh, God, and then what she’d been dreading happened. The words whispered into the room. “I love you.”

Appalled, her mind froze. How could she have let that go? She hadn’t even felt the phrase on her tongue.

But it was out now, and there was only one thing to be done.

She’d already known it was past time for goodbye.

* * *

T
HE
K
ARMA
C
UPCAKES
truck was back in its usual spot in Layla’s duplex driveway. The familiarity should soothe her, she thought, but she’d lost all hope for serenity somewhere between Crescent Cove and home two days before. Trying to ignore a churning stomach and a throbbing head, she settled onto a stool and contemplated the bottle of champagne on the countertop beside the mixer. Lost in misery, she almost fell over when Uncle Phil suddenly pulled open the door and stepped inside. He was in his usual counterculture garb: cargo shorts, natural-fiber shirt, braided bracelets, but the expression on his face didn’t look the least laid-back.

He appeared...determined.

It wasn’t a familiar Uncle Phil state of mind.

Layla’s brows drew together. “What’s wrong?”

“Staring into space won’t get those cupcakes made, you know,” he said, gesturing at the champagne.

Alarm tickled her again. He’d never been a harsh taskmaster. As a matter of fact, he’d never been any kind of taskmaster. And managing Karma Cupcakes was her baby. His had always been a supporting role. “Uncle Phil—”

“Don’t you have an order to fulfill? I thought you planned to deliver it today.”

“I’ve been considering, uh, reneging on that,” she confessed.

His eyes narrowed. “Layla.”

He’d never scolded her, but that’s where it sounded as if he was going. “I’m sure no one’s even counting on them,” she said, her voice defensive. “When I moved out of the beach house, the note I left behind said goodbye. Vance will have understood all that it means.”

She’d written it so fast, and in the dark, she hoped he could read her handwriting. Panicking in the aftermath of those three words, she’d pretended instant sleep. Then, once Vance had dropped off, his slumber heavy, his body boneless, she’d bolted from her place next to him. For twenty minutes, she’d dashed about, packing her things, penning her brief explanation, leaping into her car for the race home.

Uncle Phil looked dubious. “You really think Vance understands?”

He hadn’t called her, had he? “Believe me, things are better this way.”

“What way is that?”

No longer able to meet his gaze, Layla let hers roam the snug interior of the truck. It snagged on the ridiculous Teddy bear Vance had given her that first day. With a silent groan, she glanced upward, her eyes settling on the statue of a seated, half-smiling Buddha in its resting place. That’s how she wanted to be, a tranquil carving of stone without wants or regrets. Without expectation or disappointment.

“Layla?”

“Craving results in suffering,” she suddenly said. “Buddha says so, right? Hurt comes if you want something too much.”

“How does that relate to you running from Crescent Cove in the dark of night?”

She frowned. “It was closer to the gray of dawn. And it relates because I departed the cove—” not run from it, she’d left that note, right? “—in order to work on my attachment issues.”

Her uncle took his own look at the figurine above then met her gaze. “I don’t think Buddha meant—”

“Look, I need to stand on my own two feet!” She did that now, rising from the stool and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Why?”

“Dad’s gone.” The words made her stomach take another unpleasant dip. “And you’ll be taking your trip soon, too. I need to learn to count on myself.”

“That doesn’t mean cutting yourself off from everyone else.”

Layla shook her head. “This time, it does.”

With a sigh, Uncle Phil leaned against the countertop. “So does this independence of yours allow you to avoid situations you don’t like?”

“Such as...?” she asked, wary.

“Doing your job, Layla. Taking orders for cupcakes and then delivering them.”

She glared at him. Uncle Phil was supposed to be always laid-back! Not incisive. Not probing. “Don’t you have an excursion down the Amazon to plan?”

“I’ve never tried to be your father,” he said, ignoring the jab. “I’ve never thought it was my job to form your character.”

Her anger faded in an instant. “Oh, Uncle Phil—”

“But I do
know
your character. You might be on your own two feet, but you won’t be able to live with the woman in the mirror if you break your word on this.”

“C’mon.” Her chest felt tight. “It’s just cupcakes.”

He raised a brow. “Is it?”

On that first day at the cove, she’d wondered if her uncle had hatched his own secret matchmaking plan, and the suspicion now rose again. “Uncle Phil,” she said, pinning him with her stare, “did you actually go along with this whole Helmet List vacation in the hopes that Vance and I might pair up?”

“Would I interfere that way?” His expression turned pious. “Buddha said, ‘Three things cannot be long hidden. The sun, the moon and the truth.’”

Layla frowned. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning bake the cupcakes,” her uncle replied, and turned to leave.

Layla reached for the bottle of champagne, resigned. No one could dodge the tough questions as successfully as Uncle Phil. Fine. She’d bake the cupcakes. Vance’s family had been kind to her. Vance himself had been generous in so many ways. She was obliged to see this through, despite her discomfort.

Fiddling with the metal cage at the top of the bottle, she promised herself she’d keep her own cork tightly seated. Every emotion would stay inside until the damn desserts were delivered.

The door shut behind Uncle Phil, then it opened again and he stuck his head back inside. “How long have I been planning my around-the-world expedition?”

Surprised by the question, Layla glanced over at him. “I don’t know...all my life?”

“And longer.” A rueful smile curved his lips. “If I was ever really going to leave the west coast, would I have waited until I have arthritic knees and an addiction to
Storage Wars?
”

She stared. “But...but why all the guidebooks?”

“There’s more than one way to enjoy a journey, Layla. You’ve got to decide if you want to do it my way—only on paper and in dreams—or if you actually want to step onto the plane and fly.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A
FTER
L
AYLA’S ABRUPT DEFECTION,
Vance spent the days alone at Beach House No. 9, brooding over why she’d gone and concocting plans to get her back. Oh, he’d considered accepting it for the rejection it seemed to be and forcing himself to move on. Time would expunge the pain, right? He’d get busy in the groves and losing her would no longer feel as if winter had descended five months too early.

But the stubborn, hardheaded part of him wasn’t ready to surrender. And he found her early morning escape highly suspicious. If there wasn’t something profound going on, he figured, she’d have had the decency to say goodbye to his face. So he curbed his innate impatience and listened to his instincts. It would be better if she returned to him.

When the knock came on the door around 7:00 p.m. of the third day, the evening before his brother’s engagement brunch, he knew who stood on the other side. Schooling his expression, he crossed to the entrance, determined to remain calm.

His heart stumbled, however, when he caught sight of her on the doorstep. Her hair in a ponytail, she wore ancient jeans, a sweatshirt and a pair of flip-flops. Two oblong pink bakery boxes were balanced on her palms. She looked determined, but so exhausted that he wanted to snatch her up and hold her close.

His own sharp yearning startled him. Somehow she’d dug herself deep, and without her in his life he’d been left empty and aching.
Never again,
he whispered to her silently.
I won’t let you run from me ever again.

She didn’t appear to notice her effect on him and just shoved the cartons forward. “Here,” she said, her low-pitched voice huskier than usual. “Best wishes to Fitz and Blythe.”

“That’s it?” Despite his effort to stay cool, his temper sparked, and he deliberately stuck his hands in his pockets and stared at her. “You’re not even going to come in?”

A huff of breath ruffled her bangs. “Why?”

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

She frowned, her arms still upraised, offering the cupcakes.

They were at a standoff. Though his nerves stretched tauter, Vance refused to give an inch. But he should have known the little soldier facing him wouldn’t crack easy, either, and several strained minutes passed.

Finally, she huffed again. “Just move out of the way and I’ll put these in the kitchen.”

Stepping aside, he let her go by. Relief buckled his knees and he braced an arm on the wall to keep himself upright. Okay.
Okay
. At least he’d gotten her this far.

After a moment, he took a breath and followed her into the kitchen. She whirled as he approached and pressed back against the countertop. He didn’t hesitate to get into her personal space.

The woman had wormed her way into places he hadn’t planned on, hadn’t she?

Layla touched the tip of her tongue to her top-heavy upper lip. “Uh, I hope you weren’t concerned about the cupcakes.”

“I knew you’d keep your promise.”

She flushed. “Still, I didn’t want anyone to worry. I called your mom and explained that I’d be dropping them off to you.”

“So she said.”

“Oh.” Her head bobbed up and down. “That’s right. You’re, um, patched up with them now, aren’t you? Did I tell you how great I think that is? It’s great. Really, really great.”

“It is,” he agreed, “though it’s only half of what I want.”

Her brows pinched together. “I’d think you have everything now. Is something wrong with the job at Smith & Sons?”

“No.”

She studied his face with her big brown eyes. “Well, I would have thought you’d be in a better mood then. Is it Fitz and Blythe’s engagement—”

“I’m ecstatic for them.”

“You don’t sound like it,” Layla said, frowning. “Though I can imagine it’s hard to get over—”

“If you mention another word about Blythe I’m going to strangle you.”

“Well, you were the one engaged to the woman,” she said in a snotty voice.

Her tone made him ease a little more. “I was stupid about that,” he confessed, and figured he owed her a better explanation. “I didn’t care about her for herself...I saw her as my ticket back into the family—and also as a poke at Fitz.”

“Oh,” Layla said.

“And I’ve apologized for it.” He smiled a little. “All’s forgiven, even though she’s signed herself up for a lifetime with my fucking perfect big brother.”

Layla made a face. “You don’t fool me. You love him.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. Then they stared at each other for another long minute. His nerves cinched again, going so tight he heard a high whine in his ears. “So—”

“I’ve got to be going,” she said.

“No.”
He cleared his throat. “I mean, I have something to give you. Don’t take a step.” Not trusting her to do as bid, he hurried away.

And she did move. His stomach swooped at the sight of the empty kitchen, but then he found her in the living room, her gaze focused out the glass slider. The sun was hovering at eye level in that odd, breathless manner it had of seeming to stay glued in place before taking its last precipitous dash for the horizon.

He came up behind her, close enough to smell the sweetness of cupcakes on her skin. “Layla,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

It made her jump and before he could stop her she was out the door and onto the deck. Gritting his teeth, Vance stalked behind her, following his prey until her belly was pressed against the railing.

Impatient now, he grabbed her by the arm and turned her to face him. “Here,” he said brusquely. “This is for you.”