Bungalow Nights. Christie Ridgway

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      “I remember that.”

      Her head whipped around. “You couldn’t. You didn’t know me then.” She looked anxious at the thought he might.

      Baxter couldn’t figure out why. He frowned, searching back in his mind for a picture of Addy as a schoolgirl. But his memory stalled on her at nineteen, heat rushing to his groin as he pictured her blushing cheeks, her sun-kissed shoulders, her—

      Stop! he ordered himself, shaking the images from his head. He shoved his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat. “I remember you getting a boatload of DVDs as birthday presents. Your parents threw a big bash for one occasion and invited the entire neighborhood. Vance and I breezed through...” His words trailed off as her face turned scarlet.

      She rubbed her palms on the fabric of her pants. “It was my thirteenth. I can’t believe you came to it.”

      “We were probably hoping to score some cake and make our mothers happy.” He studied her still-red face. “The memory doesn’t seem to be a pleasant one for you.”

      “I didn’t like being the center of attention at that age.”

      Baxter frowned, thinking back again. “Yeah, I remember the party, but I don’t remember you there.”

      “Good,” Addy said, her voice fervent. She half turned from him, her focus back on the box.

      The bare nape of her neck drew him closer. Six years ago, it had been hidden under all that hair. Her skin was so pretty there, smooth and vulnerable. “Which means,” Baxter murmured as he moved in, driven by some undeniable impulse, “that I owe you a birthday ki—”

      “No!” She spun to face him, so close their toes were an inch apart. Her voice lowered and her gaze dropped away. “No.”

      His attention focused on the pink perfection of her lips. They looked soft, too, and as vulnerable as that sweet spot on the back of her neck. He wanted to taste both.

      “You don’t owe me anything, Baxter.”

      He froze. Oh, God, but he did. That apology! He’d come to square things between them so he could erase her from the “Owe” side of his personal ledger book. More kissing would only add another entry.

      Dammit all.

      Clearing his throat again, he stepped back. “You’re right. What I came to do, to say that is—”

      “You found everything!” a female voice exclaimed.

      Both Baxter and Addy swung toward the slender brunette striding into the room. She wore a man-size shirt, the tails brushing just above her knees and the ragged hems of her long jean cutoffs. On her feet were a pair of faded, shoelaceless Keds. On her face, not a stitch of makeup.

      Her smile died as she caught sight of Baxter. Her gaze darted to the other woman even as she halted in her tracks. “You’re all right, Addy? He’s not bothering you?”

      “No, no! This is an old, uh, family friend. Baxter Smith. Baxter, this is Skye Alexander, the descendant of the movie studio owner I was telling you about. She manages the Crescent Cove properties.”

      He didn’t reach out to shake her hand. Something told him she wouldn’t appreciate the contact. “Nice to meet you.”

      “He was just leaving,” Addy put in.

      Baxter frowned at her. No, he wasn’t. He had that apology to deliver and being deterred would mean he’d only have to face her another day. “Addy—”

      “Look at this,” she said to Skye, ignoring him as she brandished a sheet of paper covered with spidery writing. “I think it’s the inventory of props from The Egyptian. That’s the famous Cleopatra movie we were talking about.”

      Skye skirted Baxter to peer at the list in Addy’s hand. “You located it already?”

      “I can’t claim any special powers. The film’s name is right here on the outside of the box.” Addy smiled.

      Baxter had forgotten her smile. But how could that be? She had an elfin kind of grin, the curve of her mouth tilting the outside corners of her bright green eyes. A dimple in her right cheek teased him.

      He felt himself going hard again.

      No.

      To get his body under control, he tried thinking of arctic swims, dental drilling without Novocain, scratches in the finish of his beloved Beemer. But his gaze didn’t drift from Addy and the animation on her face as she chattered away, something about the infamy of the movie and the rumors of a jeweled collar that was associated with it, a gift to the married starring actress from her leading man-slash-lover. Scandal had ensued and the priceless necklace had gone missing all those years ago. Rumors of its existence persisted to this day.

      “The starring actress...” Skye said, quirking a brow. “Edith Essex, my great-great-grandmother.”

      “Yep. And her husband was the owner of Sunrise Pictures—as well as the man who discovered her.” Addy cleared her throat. “About Edith’s infidelity—that could only be a story.”

      “But it’s a relentless one, just like that of the missing necklace.”

      “Very, very valuable necklace.” Addy hesitated. “Are you...are you still okay with me looking into those rumors? I’m interested in uncovering what made Sunrise shut down—whether in expectation of the takeover of talkies or bad business dealings or perhaps the destructive power of an extramarital affair.”

      “Go ahead, I’m okay with it.” Skye shrugged. “Broken hearts are nothing new to the cove.”

      That last comment gave Addy visible pause. She shivered a little, and Baxter saw her jaw tighten.

      Which gave him pause.

      This clearly wasn’t the time for them to talk, he decided, moving toward the exit. They needed privacy for that, and Addison March in a relaxed frame of mind.

      Or better, he thought, glancing over his shoulder. Maybe with a little more time and space he could talk himself out of having such a conversation with Addy altogether.

      * * *

      ON HER SECOND MORNING at Crescent Cove, Layla again walked down the sand on her way from the bakery truck to Beach House No. 9. It was another beautiful day, the sun warming the air, the breeze cooling her skin. The waves hit the sand with an unceasing rhythm, the ocean’s steady breathing.

      She moved with purpose, winding her way around scattered “camps” on the sand delineated by colorful towels, beach chairs and baskets stuffed with sunscreen, magazines and sand toys. Then her gaze caught on the weaving and bobbing Stars and Stripes kite flying from the second-floor balcony of the last house in the cove. Her insides mimicked the flutter of the red, white and blue fabric and she pressed her palm against her stomach, cursing her sudden jittering nerves.

      That were anticipating seeing Vance again.

      This СКАЧАТЬ