Bungalow Nights (Beach House No. 9) by Ridgway Christie

Author:Ridgway, Christie [Ridgway, Christie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-03-01T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LAYLA WOKE UP LIKE SHE never did anymore, in a room warmed by sunshine. Usually, dawn’s gray fingers tickled her into wakefulness, the need to get to the cupcake truck and get to work foremost in her mind. But because she’d not known how late her Picnic Day duties would go, she and Uncle Phil had decided to take the day off, their first, and she stretched her toes along the sleek sheets and—

Shot upright in bed.

Vance’s bed.

The place beside her was empty now. He’d been there all night long, though, his muscled male warmth, his even breathing. Sinking back onto the pillow, Layla let herself remember what that was like. The sex beforehand had been scary-wondrous, an experience that later she’d break down layer by layer, detail by detail in order to marvel over each and every one. But, oh, how sweet was the companionship in sleep, she mused, closing her eyes against their sudden sting.

While she’d never intended to get physically involved with Vance, last night seemed as right to her now as it had been when she’d been pulled, naked, into his lap. She had wanted to be held, he’d needed the skin-to-skin contact, too, and the results...well, who could complain about the results?

Not Layla. What’s done was done and regrets were for women who didn’t know how transient life could be.

The smell of coffee lured her from the covers a short while later. She dashed for her own room, showered quickly then pulled on shorts and a T-shirt. At the last moment she grabbed a baseball cap and tugged it low over her forehead, threading her long hair out the back gap. It would provide a shield of sorts.

Sure, she had no regrets, but she did have a healthy sense of self-preservation. Which meant she didn’t want to give Vance a clear shot at reading her emotions on her face—not until she had a chance to assess his.

The kitchen was empty. Was he avoiding her like he’d avoided his famiily the day before? Trying to ignore the disappointing thought, she filled a mug from the coffee carafe and added a splash of half-and-half. Cocking her head, she listened for any sign of Vance, but though the toaster was still warm and a loaf of bread lay on the counter, the house was silent.

Her bare feet quiet on the hardwood floors, she drifted across the living room, drawn by the view of blue sky, gold-dappled ocean and the small waves flouncing against the sand like sassy little girls with white-edged petticoats. Then she saw Vance. Pleasured relief filled her as she took in his relaxed figure. In jeans and a T-shirt, he sat on the deck by the stairs that led to the beach. His back was propped against one newel and an empty mug rested beside his hip. As she watched, he broke off pieces of toasted bread and tossed them into the air.

Greedy seagulls had figured out his game and wheeled for them, somehow just managing to avoid midair collisions.

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