in anything more magical than the alchemy of baking powder and heat that caused a cake to rise.
Her spine straightened, and she sat up in her chair. At the movement, Vance glanced over. He smiled.
A bubble of apprehension hiccupped in her chest. Her nerves danced again.
No.
She was too strong for this. Too unsentimental. Too smart to go soft, despite that gilded daydream Skye had painted with her words. We’ve already gone over this, Layla reminded herself.
“Hey,” Vance said again, meeting her gaze. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Layla jumped to her feet, deciding she needed coffee or a shower or space she didn’t have to share with the handsome combat medic. The door to the house was just a few feet away and surely she could make it there without incident.
“Hold up.”
Gritting her teeth, she turned, walking backward now.
Vance caught her arm, though, and tugged her to him. At his touch, her imagination went wild once more, filling with candlelight and flowers and now naked bodies twining. A hard thigh sliding between two smooth ones. A long finger brushing a tight nipple. The aggressive thrust of a tongue.
Oh, God, Layla thought, feeling heat climb her face. Time to go!
“Too late,” Vance murmured, and she realized she’d spoken aloud. “We have a date with an amusement park ride.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“THE SANTA MONICA Pier?” Layla asked.
“It’s the closest Ferris wheel,” Vance replied. “Number one on your dad’s Helmet List.” Without glancing at her, he pulled his Jeep into a spot in the parking lot across the street from the famous landmark that included restaurants, shops and a designated fun zone built on a wide, pillar-supported platform extending into the Pacific Ocean.
That was his strategy. Not to look at her too long, talk to her too much or even breathe too deeply of her sweet perfume.
He’d hit upon it last night, when they’d settled in to watch a baseball game together. Hyperaware of her every move, he’d finally closed his eyes and willed himself into sleep. It was an ability soldiers developed, and he’d been grateful for it, though it had been a near thing when he’d awoken to find her leaning over him, her hand on his shoulder, the ends of her hair tickling his forehead. For a critical fifteen seconds he’d struggled against dragging her down to the couch, his libido clamoring for action.
He’d resisted then; he’d resist her now. The important thing to focus on was ticking off entries on the Helmet List, and that made the Ferris wheel poised at the end of the pier their destination.
And not looking at her too long, talking to her too much or breathing too deep in her presence his policy. It required maintaining some decided personal space, but even that shouldn’t be overly onerous. They’d beat feet down the three hundred or so yards to the ride at the end of the pier, circle beneath the sun a time or two, then reverse the process and return to Crescent Cove.
No harm, no foul, no inappropriate thoughts or actions.
Avoiding Layla’s perfume didn’t appear to be a problem—as they crossed beneath the arched entrance, they entered an olfactory atmosphere that was a heady combination of sunscreen chemicals, fruity sno-cone syrup and salty sea air. But that cacophony of scents also heralded the fact that they weren’t the only people in Southern California who’d decided on a visit today, and the throng of bodies streaming onto the pier almost immediately carried his companion away from him. Helpless to stop the outgoing tide of humanity, Vance caught a glimpse of her wide eyes as she glanced around for him.
With a groan, he surged into the crowd after her, his gaze following the top of her head, but he lost even that when a pair of rollerbladers cut across his path. Forced to a halt, he turned in a circle, searching for the lacy camisole she wore with a denim skirt. Damn. It was stupid to feel panicked, but a shot of sick worry coursed through him, anyway.
What the hell had Colonel Parker done, putting Vance in charge of his darling daughter? He’d been “that rowdy and reckless Smith boy” from the age of four onward, and even though he’d grown out of most of that behavior—finally—Blythe’s defection had made it clear he still wasn’t responsible enough for any kind of commitment.
Hell, he obviously couldn’t hold on to a woman for fifteen minutes! With quick strides, he made his way to the wall beside the entrance to a small shop. Plastering