Читать книгу Bungalow Nights - Christie Ridgway - Страница 14

CHAPTER SIX

LAYLA FIDGETED IN THE KITCHEN, rotating the plate of cupcakes she’d frosted in red, white and blue as the dessert for the Fourth of July dinner she’d thought she’d be sharing with Vance and Addy. But the other woman had gone to Captain Crow’s to meet some friends for a quick drink and she’d yet to return. Vance’s cousin Baxter had arrived at Beach House No. 9 not long after Addy had left, and he’d headed straightaway after her. He was still MIA, as well.

That meant Layla was alone with Vance, who was seated on the couch in the adjacent living room, staring out the sliding glass door that led to the deck and then the ocean beyond. Over the past couple of days, being by herself with him was a circumstance she’d done her best to avoid. Taking her gaze off him, she played once again with the placement of the baked treats, her twitchy nerves making it impossible to keep still.

Unable to help herself, she stole another glance at Vance and wondered about his mood. Was he edgy, too? Without other company as a buffer between them, the atmosphere in the house felt heavy with tension and her nerves stretched thin enough to snap. As if sensing her gaze, he turned his head and she quickly redirected her attention to the cupcakes. Boy, were they fascinating.

Not. Even as she pretended an interest in them, she could tell that Vance continued looking at her. The nape of her neck went hot beneath the long fall of her hair and her sundress, a patriotic red with white polka dots, suddenly seemed to cling too tightly to her ribs. The nervous shuffle of her feet made the hemline tickle the sensitive spots at the back of her knees.

As more minutes passed, her breath bounced back at her from the old-fashioned tile backsplash, sounding much too loud. And was it just her, or were the walls now closing in?

Layla spun away from the countertop. “I’m going to find Addy.”

In a move just as abrupt, Vance shoved up from the couch. “Sounds good to me.”

He was going with her? She wanted to refuse his company, but that would only seem rude and...immature. God knew she’d appeared childish enough when she’d clung to him during the Ferris wheel ride. She couldn’t help that the height of the metal contraption had triggered a bout of panic, but it only had added to her humiliation that he’d been prompted to offer up his services as her big brother.

Big brother! He was a step or two ahead of her now as they descended the stairs from the deck to the beach. The thin fabric of his short-sleeved, white chambray shirt fluttered against the strong muscles of his broad back. His ancient Levi’s had a rip in one rear pocket, which drew her eyes and made her all too aware of the way only a man could fill out a pair of jeans. She heaved a sigh.

He glanced around at the sound, just in time to see her trip on the last step. Her neck blazed hot again as his hand shot out to steady her.

“I’m fine,” she bit out, jerking to avoid his touch. “I don’t need a keeper.”

Then, sucking in a breath, she started striding along the sand in the direction of the restaurant. Okay, maybe she sounded as if she needed a keeper.

Or a big brother.

Gah!

The mere fact that he’d mentioned it on the Ferris wheel proved he’d managed to bury what she’d thought was a mutual attraction. Or perhaps on his end it had evaporated all on its own. In any case, clearly she’d morphed in his mind from sexy to sibling.

Great.

She was still grinding away on that when they approached the deck at Captain Crow’s. It was a much different place from where she’d eaten lunch a few days before. Then it had been relaxed. Quiet. The tables half-full.

Now a rock band was playing in one corner. People were sitting, standing, dancing. Drinking.

As they entered the throng, a man let out a loud whoop and lifted a scantily clad woman to his shoulders, where she swayed to the heavy beat. Vance leaned into Layla and spoke directly into her ear. “This place is nuts. Let’s go back.”

For another session of her nerves on the torture rack? No, thank you. Pretending not to hear him, she side-scooted around another piggyback-dancing couple. Addy had to be around somewhere.

A guy with curly blond hair, wearing board shorts and a tan, grabbed her arm as she went by. He swung her onto the dance floor, a good-natured grin on his face. “I’m Ted,” he shouted over the guitar licks. “I bet you like to dance.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but a different hand found her wrist and spun her away from her would-be partner. It was Vance. Her back to his front, he held her against his body with his half cast and used the other arm as a shield of sorts to push them through the throng and toward the bar.

He had the devil’s own luck, or maybe it was his set expression that had two stools opening up just as they approached. He half lifted her onto the leather-strapped seat and then took the other. It was quieter here than near the dance floor, so she didn’t have to resort to lip-reading to hear his opening remark. “This was a bad idea.”

She frowned at him. “I might have wanted to dance, you know.”

“What? With that surfer dude? He was drunk.”

Her chance to retort was interrupted by the bartender, who slapped a couple of napkin squares in front of them and asked for their orders. Vance wanted beer. Layla put in for a margarita.

It didn’t add to her dignity that the guy pouring drinks followed up by requesting her ID and from the corner of her eye she saw Vance smirk. Ignoring him, she fished her license out of her sundress pocket and at the bartender’s satisfied nod reiterated her desire for a margarita and tacked on an order for a tequila shot, salt and a slice of lime.

Vance made a noise. “Do you think you should—”

“It’s a patriotic choice,” she hissed at him.

“Today’s July Fourth, not Cinco de Mayo,” he said as their drinks were delivered.

Instead of answering him, she grabbed up the saltshaker that had been placed in front of her. With her tongue, she wet the web of skin between her left forefinger and thumb, sprinkled salt on the damp spot, then traded the shaker for the shot glass. After licking at the salt, the tequila went down fiery and hot, and she chased the flames by biting into the tangy citrus pulp of the lime.

Then she smiled at Vance.

His expression didn’t tell her anything. He watched her coolly over his bottle of beer, unnerving her again, so she turned to the margarita and took a hefty swallow. The chill of the blended drink mitigated the burn in her belly, the combination creating a warm glow that traveled through her blood.

Feeling more relaxed than she had in days, she lifted her margarita glass again.

“Maybe you should take that slow,” Vance warned.