Bungalow Nights. Christie Ridgway

Though he often stayed at his desk beyond 8:00 p.m.

      “What do you want?”

      He opened his mouth, then shut it, staring as her face started to flush. Or was that merely from the pinkish cast of the lowering sun’s light? In either case, it distracted him, and he chased the color downward, aware for the first time of what she wore. It was a dark blue sundress of a gauzy fabric that bared her shoulders and cupped her breasts.

      Nothing good could come from allowing his gaze to linger there, so he jerked it upward, noticing the wire-and-beads headband that was half-hidden by her curling hair. The small seeds of glass were colored red, white and blue.

      It was the Fourth of July, he reminded himself, and he was here to claim independence from That Night that had been shadowing him for years, staying tucked behind his shoulder until it was clear no amount of paperwork and meetings and conference calls could keep his brain occupied enough to forget it.

      “Look,” he said quickly. “I’m here because we really need to talk. What happened six years ago, what we did, what I said... It should have been resolved differently.” It hadn’t been resolved at all, that was the problem. The things that had come out of his mouth as he held her in his arms... Sweet Lord.

      His last words had been the assurance that he’d be calling her and yet he’d never dialed her number, sent an email or even posted on her Facebook wall. He didn’t even know if she had an account.

      “Will you accept my apology?” he asked.

      She blinked, those green eyes of hers expressing...what? Christ, he couldn’t read her. Six years ago she’d been an open book.

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Addy said.

      “I...uh, what?”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeated. Her brows came together and she looked perplexed. “Six years ago? We did? You said? It doesn’t ring any bells.”

      Baxter may have been gaping at her. She didn’t recall? She didn’t remember That Night? Okay, she’d had one beer, but he didn’t think she’d been drunk.

      Not drunk enough to forget being with him.

      To forget he’d taken her virginity. And what he’d said after the fact.

      As he tried to wrap his mind around her apparent forgetfulness, she turned away from him to respond to one of her college pals. Banter circled the table as they told old stories, brought up shared classes, dissed clueless professors.

      Rocked by the revelation that what had eaten at him for six years apparently didn’t rate a single memory in her brain’s filing cabinet, Baxter sat frozen. After a few minutes he reached into his pocket for his smartphone, but even calling up his email and checking for voice messages didn’t shore him up.

      Work always shored him up. Routine. Sticking to the BSLS.

      He only tuned back into the conversation when Skinny Neck spoke up again. He leaned around Baxter to address Addy. “As I mentioned,” he said, “I can help you with your research. I have a lot of free time.”

      Baxter didn’t like the guy on sight and even less now that he wanted to “help” Addy with such insistence. But he steeled himself to stay silent. Heck, if she didn’t remember him from That Night six years ago, he shouldn’t stick his nose into her affairs.

      “Well?” Skinny prodded.

      “Steve...” Addy hesitated, looking down, then her lashes swept up and her gaze touched Baxter’s face.

      He could read her well enough now, he thought. And she was clearly saying, Help.

      Before he could even think it through, he had his arm around her again. “She doesn’t need anything from you, Sk—Steve. You see, I’ve already volunteered my services. When Addy needs an extra hand, it’s going to be mine that comes to her aid.”

      Then he shined his smile on her, the foundation firm beneath his feet again. If she’d forgotten what they’d been to each other, he now had a reason to be around her to remind her of it.

      After that he’d apologize and put That Night to bed.

      He winced, not sure if it was because of his mind’s turn of phrase or the sneaking suspicion that his logic held a serious fatal flaw. But her warmth at his side felt too good for him to reason it out now.

      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