Bungalow Nights. Christie Ridgway

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СКАЧАТЬ long, talk to her too much or even breathe too deeply of her sweet perfume.

      He’d hit upon it last night, when they’d settled in to watch a baseball game together. Hyperaware of her every move, he’d finally closed his eyes and willed himself into sleep. It was an ability soldiers developed, and he’d been grateful for it, though it had been a near thing when he’d awoken to find her leaning over him, her hand on his shoulder, the ends of her hair tickling his forehead. For a critical fifteen seconds he’d struggled against dragging her down to the couch, his libido clamoring for action.

      He’d resisted then; he’d resist her now. The important thing to focus on was ticking off entries on the Helmet List, and that made the Ferris wheel poised at the end of the pier their destination.

      And not looking at her too long, talking to her too much or breathing too deep in her presence his policy. It required maintaining some decided personal space, but even that shouldn’t be overly onerous. They’d beat feet down the three hundred or so yards to the ride at the end of the pier, circle beneath the sun a time or two, then reverse the process and return to Crescent Cove.

      No harm, no foul, no inappropriate thoughts or actions.

      Avoiding Layla’s perfume didn’t appear to be a problem—as they crossed beneath the arched entrance, they entered an olfactory atmosphere that was a heady combination of sunscreen chemicals, fruity sno-cone syrup and salty sea air. But that cacophony of scents also heralded the fact that they weren’t the only people in Southern California who’d decided on a visit today, and the throng of bodies streaming onto the pier almost immediately carried his companion away from him. Helpless to stop the outgoing tide of humanity, Vance caught a glimpse of her wide eyes as she glanced around for him.

      With a groan, he surged into the crowd after her, his gaze following the top of her head, but he lost even that when a pair of rollerbladers cut across his path. Forced to a halt, he turned in a circle, searching for the lacy camisole she wore with a denim skirt. Damn. It was stupid to feel panicked, but a shot of sick worry coursed through him, anyway.

      What the hell had Colonel Parker done, putting Vance in charge of his darling daughter? He’d been “that rowdy and reckless Smith boy” from the age of four onward, and even though he’d grown out of most of that behavior—finally—Blythe’s defection had made it clear he still wasn’t responsible enough for any kind of commitment.

      Hell, he obviously couldn’t hold on to a woman for fifteen minutes! With quick strides, he made his way to the wall beside the entrance to a small shop. Plastering his back to it, he peered down the long crowded walkway, trying to catch sight of Layla again.

      Then he felt a hand pinch the sleeve of his T-shirt and yank him around, into the little store. It was littler than little, almost a closet, and filled with decals, keychains, cheap sunglasses and the woman he sought.

      “There you are.” Layla was laughing softly, her voice breathless. “I thought I’d lost you.”

      Annoyed by how relieved he felt, Vance grabbed up the darkest-of-dark lenses he could find, slipping them on his face to obscure her loveliness. Then he reached into his back pocket for his wallet and forked over five bucks to the clerk on the other side of a glass case that held Disney watches. Fakes, most likely. “You’re the one who wandered off,” he groused. He’d bet his bad temper showed on his face. “You need to stay in sight.”

      He could feel her roll her eyes. “Sorry, Grandpa Vance. But I promise to find a nice policeman or another adult I can trust if we get separated again.”

      “That’s not gonna happen.” With that, he took a firm grip on her hand and towed her back out into the sunshine.

      “Hey,” she protested, her fingers wiggling like fish on a line, but even with the clumsy bulk of the wrist brace impeding his grip, he didn’t let go.

      “Come on,” he said, tugging her into the mass of visitors.

      With the two of them attached, though, they made less progress than before. The swarm of people was just that hard to navigate, or maybe it was Layla, who seemed to hang back even as he tried to move forward. He glanced down at her, noting the sudden faraway look on her face. Was there a problem?

      Then it hit him. She had to be missing her dad. This was something she was supposed to be doing with him, after all. Vance couldn’t blame her for finding him a poor substitute.

      He leaned nearer, close enough for the scent of Layla to reach him. It was her shampoo, he decided, as the wind stirred her hair and a lock of it caught in the bristle of whiskers on his unshaven cheek. He brushed it away with his free hand, the silky strands caressing the inner surfaces between two of his fingers. “Is everything okay?”

      Pausing, she glanced up. Their faces were close, her mouth near enough to kiss. “Vance, I...” She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

      Of course she wasn’t. Her head turned away from his again and he saw she was staring at a boardwalk game, one of those carnival contests that gave you three chances to win for a dollar. He didn’t think she was actually seeing it, but an idea came, anyway. “Hey,” he said. “Would you like to try that?” He’d planned to hustle her down to the wheel ride, but now that seemed the wrong move. “You could win a stuffed animal.”

      She slid him a look. “I already have a teddy bear.”

      “You could win me a stuffed animal.” He squeezed her hand. “They’ve got Garfield the cat. My favorite.”

      Before she could reply, he was steering her toward the booth. Money changed hands and the old guy running the game passed over three baseballs to Layla. Her expression bemused, she focused on the targets, three neon-painted cartoon figures just waiting to be knocked down. “You really want a Garfield?” she asked. “Because I’m pretty sure it’s going to cost you.”

      Vance could see a little smile quivering at the corners of her lips. “Positive,” he said. He positively wanted to see that smile let loose, no matter what the price.

      It took twenty-two dollars and the mercy of the game operator. By the time she finally clutched her prize, that grin he’d been after came with a touch of more-fool-you. “We could have bought one of these for half that much at the toy store,” she said, presenting the orange feline to him.

      “Wouldn’t be the same,” he said, tucking it under one arm and reclaiming her hand. “Because this guy comes with the indelible knowledge that you have the throwing arm of a girl.”

      She punched him in the shoulder as they headed down the pier again.

      “You do that like a girl, too,” he said. “When you hit somebody you should curl your thumb over your fingers, not put it inside your fist.”

      “Really?” She blinked. “I never knew that.”

      “That’s why boys are so much better than girls.” He smiled at her little harumph and lowered his voice to murmur in her ear. “Stick with me, baby, I’ll teach you everything you’ve yet to learn.”

      Her feet stumbled. Her gaze jerked toward his.

      Just like that, the crowds evaporated. The sun seemed to shine on Layla like a beacon, burnishing the rich brown of her hair, adding a glow to the smooth curve of her naked shoulders. There was a flush on her cheeks and her mouth glistened when her tongue wet her top lip, then the bottom one.

      Hell, СКАЧАТЬ