Christie Ridgway - Bungalow Nights

A new feeling tickled him. He should know her, he thought, frowning. And not just in the way any red-blooded man would want to know a woman that hot. She looked familiar.

And nervous. Her fingers combed through the ends of her long hair as she went on tiptoe to scan the area. When she settled back on her heels, she bit down on her bottom lip.

God, didn’t he know that mouth?

He wouldn’t have forgotten kissing those lips, would he?

Still puzzling it out, he narrowed his gaze. He was thirty and she was about five years younger, which crossed her off his list of high school hookups—even if one might have coincidentally ventured here, an hour from home environs. As for more recent conquests—until six months ago he’d been in a yearlong, serious relationship. Meaning if this lovely little mama was part of his past it would have been in his wild and crazy years...wild, crazy and hazy.

He glanced over at Baxter, who had been his partner in crime—okay, he’d been the designated driver—whenever Vance could pry him free of his Aeron office chair. “Cuz.”

Baxter started. He’d been watching Addy, who’d been watching the waves curl toward shore. “Uh, what?” His hand smoothed over the tasteful stripes of his preppy tie even as he slid a last look at the blonde seated beside him.

Vance couldn’t cipher what was going on there, not when he had to determine the identity of the leggy girl at the hostess stand. “Don’t be obvious, but check out the woman waiting for a table.” He saw his cousin lift his gaze in the right direction. “Do I know her?”

Bax’s eyes flicked back to Vance’s face. “Huh? How would I be aware of all your acquaintances?”

“It’s a long shot, but...” But he had this dreadlike feeling that she wasn’t a mere acquaintance. He fought the urge to ogle her again, though the guy in him was clamoring for a second look. It was a bad idea, though. If she was a former...interest of his, he didn’t want to attract her attention. He’d become a little classier—and a lot less of a party animal—over the past few years, and it would only embarrass them both if she attempted reacquaintance and he was forced to admit he’d forgotten her name and how he knew her.

How well they might have known each other.

Could I really have forgotten that mouth?

Hooking a foot around a leg of his chair, he gave it a little twist, presenting more of his back to the brunette. “Never mind.”

“Um,” his cousin said, his gaze drifting over Vance’s shoulder again. “I guess she’s given up waiting on the hostess. She’s walked onto the deck and it looks as if she’s coming in this direction.”

Hell! Vance did a rush shuffle through his memory banks. In college, he’d double majored in hedonism and procrastination until dropping out to join the army. Returning to California after his four-year stint, he’d briefly gone back to his bad boy ways. Though he’d soon straightened up and begun a relationship with a woman he’d thought was his future, it still left time for him to find then forget the wavy-haired woman he could practically feel from here.

He took a chance and glanced back. She was standing still again, scanning the restaurant’s patrons with a hint of anxiety in her expression. He hoped some asshole hadn’t stood her up. As he watched, her eyes started to track toward their table and Vance hurriedly turned his head. Sliding lower in his seat, he made to grab a menu from the table to use as a shield, then froze.

What the hell was he doing? If he hid behind the vinyl folder, Addy would think he was addled. Bax would laugh his ass off. Vance considered himself an idiot just for having the craven impulse.

Anyway, no chance I would have forgotten that face.

Preparing to start some relaxing small talk with his companions, he cleared his throat. Addy and Baxter both looked at him and then, as one, their gazes transferred to a spot above his head. Vance’s belly tightened. A delicately sweet scent reached him on another of those cold, cautionary breezes.

“Vance?” a throaty, feminine voice asked. “Vance Smith?”

That slightly scratchy timbre goosed him somewhere deep inside, waking his previously snoozing sexual urges with a start. Shit, he thought, tensing. Now wasn’t the time for this. Now was the time for Layla Parker to show up. And if the girl arrived this very minute, then an awkward encounter with the female he’d forgotten could get lost in the flurry of meeting the colonel’s daughter. His libido would settle back to its deep sleep. Without moving a muscle, he waited a beat for his wish to come true.

When his hope went unfulfilled, Vance swallowed his sigh of resignation and slowly half turned in his seat.

“So...The Breakers?” he asked, naming one of his old hangouts as he shifted. “Or was it Pete’s Place?”

“What?” she asked.

He made himself look into her eyes. They were big and a soft brown, circled with thick dark lashes. Damn, Vance thought, those eyes, that mouth, the whole package stirred him up.

And stirred a memory, but for the life of him, he couldn’t place it.

“I’m trying to recall where we met,” he clarified. There was nothing to do but confess, though the way his body was responding it seemed unbelievable her identity wasn’t burned in his brain. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know...”

“Oh.” She shook her head, and a pair of gold hoop earrings swung. “We haven’t met. I took a guess. You have the shortest haircut out here.” Her lips curved just a little and—

It clicked. That tiny smile snapped the missing piece into the puzzle. It was the same one worn by the bear-toting kid in the officer’s photograph.

His gut knotted. Hell, he thought, stunned. Oh, hell.

She was right; they’d never met, but he knew her all the same. As a matter of fact, he’d been waiting for her. Yes, Colonel, she is beautiful.

So damn beautiful Vance felt a little sick.

The sexy woman standing two feet away was none other than Layla Parker. Layla Parker, the “little girl” whose dreams he’d been charged with making come true.

Good God, he thought. This changed everything, didn’t it? The little girl was all grown up.

* * *

VANCE WAS SO UNBALANCED he didn’t get to his feet, he didn’t speak, he might not have been breathing. Baxter’s manners kicked in, thank goodness, and it was he who shepherded the colonel’s daughter to the empty chair beside Addy. Layla let herself be led away from Vance and gave her attention to his cousin and the woman he’d hired to live at Beach House No. 9 with him and the little girl.

The little girl who wasn’t a little girl in the least.

Still trying to come to grips with that, he let Baxter and Addy initiate introductions and continue the conversation. Layla smiled and spoke, even as Vance didn’t hear a word she said.

Her big browns kept stealing glances at his face. She was clearly puzzled by his continued silence, but he couldn’t do more than try to ignore his body’s reaction to her while thinking of the speediest way to put an end to this impossible situation.

A server, apparently noting every chair at their four-top was occupied, hurried over to discuss the menu and take requests. He considered telling the aproned girl they wouldn’t be sticking around that long, but Baxter—who’d apparently changed his mind about leaving—and the others were already making decisions and communicating food orders. There was nothing he could do but ask for a sandwich and iced tea.

So they’d have lunch. Share a meal before bidding goodbye. Layla was more than twice the age he’d expected and surely she had better things to do than hang out at the beach with a virtual stranger.

Just as he had the comforting thought, she addressed him. “My dad wrote me about you.”