The Westmoreland Legacy. Brenda Jackson

can’t-get-to-sleep nighttime fantasies that left you hot and bothered with no relief in sight. It was those thoughts that had her unable to speak, so she just stood there and stared at the penetrating dark gaze holding hers as her heart beat violently in her chest.

      She knew SEALs stayed in shape, but the body of the man standing before her was simply ridiculous. She knew of no other man whose body was so well built. So magnificently toned. His jeans appeared plastered to him in the most decadent way. He made her think of wicked temptation and sinful delights.

      Doubting she could stand there much longer without going up in flames, even with the blast of cold air, she swallowed deeply and then forced her voice to ask, “Is something wrong with Ms. Melody?”

      From the look that quickly flashed across his features, she could tell he was surprised by her question. “What makes you think something is wrong with my grandmother?”

      Layla sighed deeply. “What other reason would bring you here?”

      That, Gavin thought, was a good question. Why was he here? He had heard the harmonica. And had quickly figured out the source was Layla in the party house. So what had driven him out into the night? He definitely could have waited until morning to talk to her about the dig. Had he come here just to stand in the doorway to try and get his fill of looking at her?

      “Gavin?”

      And why did the sound of his name from her lips send desire throbbing through him? In his horny state, it wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge. “Yes?”

      “If nothing is wrong with Ms. Melody, why are you here?”

      He crossed his arms over his chest. “I heard you playing a harmonica.”

      Layla’s jaw dropped in surprise. She must have been shocked that he heard her. The guest cottage was far away from the main house and on the opposite side of the bedrooms. Gramma Mel had probably told her he would be sleeping hard for a full day.

      But he wasn’t sleeping. He was here. He rubbed his hand down his face in frustration. He needed to get to Mississippi fast or else...

      Or else what? He would begin thinking of Layla Harris in his bed? Too late. His mind had already gone there. More than once. Those thoughts had pretty much settled in the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Having her at the party house wasn’t helping matters. Typically, all he had to do was snap his fingers to get any woman he wanted. Why were his fingers itching to be snapped? With Layla Harris, would it be that easy? Why didn’t he think so?

      “I am so sorry,” she said now. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I know you need to get all that rest and—”

      “You didn’t wake me.”

      “But you said that you heard me playing.”

      “I did, but that’s not what awakened me.” Gavin figured there was no reason to tell her how disrupted his sleep patterns tended to be during his first few days back home. Which still left her question unanswered. Why was he here? Why had he sought her out? In the middle of the night? “You play very well,” he said.

      Gavin thought she was even more beautiful than she had looked this morning. He blamed the easy smile that touched her lips.

      “Thanks, but I’m sure you didn’t come all this way just to give me that compliment.”

      No, he hadn’t. He’d actually come to give her hell for feeding his grandmother a bunch of crock about buried treasure on their land. So he needed to say what he had come to say. “We should talk. May I come in?”

      * * *

      It was funny he would ask. After all, she was the visitor on his land. This was his house. Ms. Melody had told her that Gavin and some of his SEAL teammates had built it a few years ago as a place to hang out whenever they visited.

      Gavin and his friends could get loud and rowdy here at the cottage without disturbing his grandmother. That accounted for why the place was so spacious with the cupboards bare—except for a refrigerator stocked with beer and wine coolers. Not to mention that a deck of cards seemed to be in every room.

      “Yes, of course you can come in. You own the place.”

      “But you’re my grandmother’s guest.”

      Had he said that to remind her she wasn’t his guest? To remind her that her presence on the Silver Spurs was something he didn’t support? Layla would find out soon enough.

      She moved from the door and he followed, closing it behind him. “Would you like something to drink?” Grinning brightly, she said, “There’s plenty of beer and wine coolers in the fridge.”

      Gavin chuckled. “I’ll take a beer.”

      She nodded. “One beer coming up.” She felt his gaze on her backside.

      “Here you are. I feel funny doing this,” Layla said, coming back into the room carrying a cold bottle of beer.

      He lifted a brow. “Doing what?”

      “Serving you your own beer.”

      “No reason that you should. You’re my grandmother’s guest.”

      That was the second time he’d said that, Layla thought. Not one to beat around the bush, she crossed the room to hand him the beer, and then wished she hadn’t. Their hands had only briefly touched so why was heat filling her? And why was he looking at her as if that same heat filled him?

      She quickly took a step back and wiped her hands down the sides of her jeans.

      “You think that will get rid of it?”

      She met his eyes. She knew what he’d insinuated, but she wanted to be sure. “Get rid of what?”

      “Nothing.”

      He then opened the bottle and took a huge gulp. Afterward, he licked his lips while she watched. Her chest tightened. He lowered the bottle from his mouth and held her gaze. “Want a sip?”

      She drew in a deep breath to clamp down on her emotions. Was he offering to share his beer? For them to drink from the same bottle? Doing something like that was way too intimate for her. Evidently not for him. A distinct warmth coiled around her midsection. The way his eyes darkened wasn’t helping matters.

      She should call his bluff and take a sip. But that might lead to other things. It might give him ideas. The same ideas floating crazily through her head. The last thing she needed was an involvement with a man. Any man. Especially him. Her work was too important to her. The idea of an October fling was not. “No thanks. I had one earlier and one was enough for me.”

      Instead of saying anything, he nodded and raised the bottle to his lips to drain the rest. She watched his throat work. When had seeing a man drink anything been a turn-on?

      When he finished the bottle and lowered it, she asked, “Want another one?”

      He smiled at her. “No, one was enough for me.”

      She couldn’t help but smile back at his use of her words. “I don’t know, Gavin Blake. You seem like the sort of guy that could handle a couple of those.”

      “You’re right, but that’s not why I’m here.”

      His words were a reminder that he hadn’t shown up tonight for chitchat and drinking beer. “Yes, you said you wanted to talk. Is there a problem?” Layla knew there was and figured he was about to spell it out for her.

      “Who taught you to play the harmonica?”

      She’d expected him to just dive in. His question threw her. “My grandfather,” she said, angling her head to look up at him. “He was the best. At least most people thought so.”

      “And who was your grandfather?”

      “Chip Harris.”

      Surprise made Gavin’s jaw drop. “Chip Harris? The Chip Harris?”