Oh, God. Layla. The thought of her checked his momentum and his hands dropped. He’d forgotten all about the woman, he realized in surprise. His brother got him just that riled up. Spinning around, he saw her reach the top of the steps. She stood there, swaying slightly, her big eyes blinking against the light. It illuminated her flushed cheeks, her breeze-tousled hair and her dainty sundress. One of its skinny straps had slid down her arm and she carried both sandals in her right hand, giving her an appearance that was both innocent and suggestive.
Like she’d just finished playing a round of blanket bingo on the beach—or was about to go to bed in Beach House No. 9.
Obviously—as he should have suspected—she was a lightweight when it came to alcohol. During the short walk down the beach it must have caught up with her. One blended icy drink and those two shots had left her a little blurry around the edges.
She smiled at him, apparently oblivious to the other man on the deck. “You do know how to make margaritas, don’t you, Vance? Vance-Vance-Smartypants?”
He winced. Under his watch, she was never being served tequila again.
“‘Vance-Vance-Smartypants’?” Fitz murmured.
“Shut up,” he said, glancing back. He was still a hairsbreadth from clobbering Fitz. It was only the presence of Layla that kept his brother’s handsome face intact. “You don’t get it.”
“Oh, I get it very well,” the other man responded. “I’ve met her before, or girls just like her, dozens of times. Color me unsurprised to find you’re back to your old ways of picking up random beach honeys in bars.”
Sanctimonious jerk. “That’s no random beach honey,” he gritted out. “That’s Layla.”
Fitz didn’t appear to recognize the name. Which meant Mrs. March didn’t know or hadn’t shared the whole reason Vance was here at Crescent Cove.
His brother still wore a disapproving expression as he glanced at the tipsy woman, then back at Vance. “Layla, Leila, Lila, Lola, they’re all the same to you. I thought you’d grown out of this kind of behavior, though. Is this because of Blythe? Because of Blythe and—”
“Layla’s not a pickup, Fitz,” he said, furious all over again. He couldn’t stomach his brother seeing Colonel Parker’s pretty daughter as some replaceable and interchangeable temporary bed partner, just as he couldn’t bear him bringing up Blythe. “We’re...we’re...uh...”
Fitz rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure. You’re the big ‘uh’ to each other. Do you even know her full name?”
“Parker,” Vance said from between his teeth. “It’s Layla Jean Parker.”
“June,” his housemate corrected in a helpful tone. “Layla June Parker.”
Fitz snorted a derisive laugh. “See—”
“You don’t see anything,” Vance shot back.
“I see you with yet another of your one-night stands.”
Red tinged the edges of Vance’s vision. “She and I aren’t only together for tonight,” he said. “We’re living together.”
Fitz’s jaw dropped. “You’re living together?”
His brother’s shock revealed his misinterpretation of Vance’s words. “I don’t mean—” But then he halted. Why not? Why not let Fitz believe he was shacking up with a beautiful woman?
Even though part of him felt guilty for the deception, still he crossed the deck to Layla. At least the fib would prove he wasn’t pining after someone he couldn’t have. He curled his arm around the colonel’s daughter, at the same time catching that drooping strap and drawing it onto her shoulder. “Sweetheart,” he said, wondering if he had a chance of her getting the message he was trying to send with his eyes, “this is my brother, Fitz.” Did you hear what I said, Layla? We’re together. Play along.
“Fitz?” she repeated in a low, sweet voice. Leaning into Vance’s body, she looked owlishly up at him and then over at his brother. “He doesn’t look so fucking perfect to me.”
The affront on Fitz’s face was priceless. All at once, both Vance’s tension and his temper evaporated and he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh out loud or kiss her silly. Then he remembered the conversation he’d told himself that he and Layla needed to have—We’re just going to be friends. There’s no point in getting any more intimate than that. You stomp out your sexual sparks and I’ll stomp out mine—and settled for keeping her close to his side.
“I’m sure you have plans for tonight,” he remarked to his brother. “Don’t let us keep you.”
Thank God Fitz didn’t try to delay his dismissal. He strode toward the deck steps, but paused before descending. “This isn’t over, V.T. Before you leave this place, you and