Read Bungalow Nights (Beach House No. 9) for Free Online Page B

nothing particularly unusual about the fact that she wanted to. If Vance caused another woman to do a double take, then Layla’s own response was perfectly normal.
    Like admiring a...a pretty butterfly.
    She stole another glance at him, taking in the wealth of sunbaked skin. “It’s not just me, right?”
    The stranger grinned again. “Hey, I’m here with a posse of firefighters,” she said, turning to fling the Frisbee down the beach, “and your guy caught my eye.”
    Layla diverted her attention to the handful of young men pushing each other aside in order to retrieve the plastic disc. Weren’t they photo spread–worthy as well with their bright swim trunks and athletic builds?
    “Man candy, too,” Layla pronounced, and with a farewell wave, turned toward the beach house, a new lightness in her step. Any woman alive would experience a little quickening of the blood. It was nothing uncivilized, nothing to be anxious about, and now that she’d indulged in her short session of Vance-gawking, she was even over admiring him.
    The man in question sat up, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head as she mounted the steps from the sand. She gave him her best bright smile. “Hey!”
    His eyes narrowed. “You’re cheery.”
    “I’m a morning person,” she confessed. Not to mention that she’d defeated her apprehension. Thousands upon thousands of attractive men populated the world, dozens of them on this very beach even, and there wasn’t anything special about her brief fascination with this particular one’s appearance.
    Everybody liked butterflies.
    He frowned. “Butterflies?”
    Oops . Had she said that out loud? “Sorry, I do that sometimes. Talk to myself when I’m, uh, developing recipes.”
    “Butterflies?” he asked again, more skeptical.
    “Or buttermilk.” She waved a hand. Then, because he still radiated suspicion, she perched one hip on the cushion at the level of his knees, all casual friendliness. Looking him straight in the eye, she smiled. “So...how do you like my cupcakes?”
    His face went strangely still. It gave her a moment to study him, though from the very first she’d tried to avoid a detailed examination. Even while being dispassionate about the whole thing—as she insisted to herself she was—his looks were striking. His dark blond hair was thick and sun-lightened a brighter caramel around the edges. He had strong cheekbones and jawline, with straight, sandy-colored brows over summer-sky eyes. The face was saved from pretty by the firmness of his mouth and the strong column of his neck. Those tough-guy shoulders dispatched the last of any spoiled playboy impression left by the golden hair and angel eyes.
    Weird, how her heart was racing again.
    “Your cupcakes?” Vance cleared his throat, and just for a second, his gaze flicked to a spot below her neck, before quickly jerking up again. “I like your cupcakes just fine.”
    Oh, jeez. She felt the skin between her collarbone and modest décolletage go hot. Her “cupcakes” tingled inside the cups of her bra. Why hadn’t she used a more innocuous phrase like baked goods? she thought, burning with mortification. “Um—”
    “Oh, hell,” he said quickly. “I apologize. Forget I said that. Forget I looked... Just for a second my brain went stupid.”
    It was the first time, she realized, she’d seen him disconcerted. Even when she’d shown up at the restaurant, unexpectedly adult, his cool demeanor hadn’t broken. It was an army thing maybe, because her dad had been like that, so good at projecting chill one could suppose he had an ice tray in his chest where a heart should be.
    “It’s all right,” she murmured, willing the warmth on her cheeks to fade.
    “It’s not.” He shook his head. “It’s... Call it combat-conditioning. Before coming back to the States I lived in the crudest of circumstances with a bunch of guys who could make me blush.”
    “I get it. It’s okay.”
    “Nah.” A sheepish grin