“Nice night,” she finally said. Lame.
He glanced up, peeked out of one eye as if surprised she was still there, then laid his head back down without comment. He was probably tired of her already.
She kicked off her slippers and wriggled her toes against the rough planks, then tried to find something innocent to look at while she thought up more of her scintillating conversation.
Her eyes flitted over the rows of chaise lounges, a cluster of pots holding half-dying geraniums, a deck table with a newspaper still folded on top of it. She wondered who took care of all this. Did Adam do everything now? Her gaze kept being pulled, though, like a magnet, to his biceps, illuminated in the blue lights from the hot tub. Rivulets of water ran down his hairline, dampening the hair around his face and at the base of his neck. His eyes remained closed. His throat moved a few times in a visible swallow.
“You’re different than I remembered,” he said, surprising her out of the darkness.
His jaw formed a shadowed triangle underneath his chin, the late-night blond stubble creating a gentle outline. His lips were full and beautiful. They were closed now, as if he’d never spoken, and Paige was suddenly unsure he’d even spoken at all. But as it slowly dawned on her what he’d said, she felt her stomach tingle. “Different how?”
His lengthy pause made her wonder whether she should continue this conversation. This could be dangerous territory. He could piss her off. He could turn her on. He could laugh at her. He could charm her pants off. She had no idea which way this could go. She stared at the remaining live geraniums in the pot, at their ruffled leaves, at their bright-red petals.
“What exactly did you remember?” she asked as her pulse raced. She was in uncharted area now, without a compass.
The water sloshed as Adam shifted. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. “I remembered you wearing a ton of black makeup and looking like you were going to pull out a grim-reaper scythe.” The lights from the spa danced along his chest, his jaw, like an aurora borealis, throwing flashes across his skin. He was grinning now.
“That was my goth stage,” she said. “Black eyeliner was crucial.”
His grin grew wider. “How long did that stage last?”
“Too long, as far as Ginger was concerned.”
The low rumble of the spa bubbles and the crickets’ rhythmic chirps grew louder over the next minute as Ginger’s name threw a pall on their rising friendliness. Way to ruin the mood, Paige. She did appreciate that Adam let the Ginger comment lie, though. He probably had plenty more to say about her mother. It was part of their weird connection again—the one that kept them from being complete strangers, although that would be easier. The things they had connection over were things neither of them wanted to talk about.
Although, now, with him in a slightly relaxed mood, it might be a good time to clear the air.
“I’m, um, sorry for all that Ginger did. Back then,” she blurted.
The spa bubbles shifted as Adam repositioned for comfort. His face lost its friendly grin and went into neutral.
Paige cleared her throat and went on. “I hope our pasts—and your past with Ginger—won’t affect any decisions you make about selling this place, or possibly working with us on the Dorothy Silver wedding.”
He kept his head back and his eyes closed as he answered her through barely moving lips. “Business is business, Paige. I never let personal issues interfere.”
She nodded. Good philosophy. Ginger, ironically, would be proud of him for that line.
“Well, it couldn’t have been easy for you,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for any pain my family may have caused you.”
“No need. It’s not your apology to make.”
A shot of guilt went through her. This was the hard part. Although Ginger was the one who had actually broken Adam and Samantha up—had Samantha sent away, had Adam thrown in jail—Paige had had a hand in it. But, to Adam, Paige had been invisible. And apparently even now her part in everything was invisible. It was best she just leave things that way. At least for as long as they were negotiating.
Like he said, business was business.
“So did you and your goth friends hang around the Industrial Tech building and smoke cigarettes?” he asked.
A smile escaped her lips. Maybe he wanted to move on, too. “Art building. But I didn’t smoke. I drove a fast car instead.”
“Ah. A girl with a fast car is a dangerous thing. This rebelliousness lasted awhile, then.”
“It did.” Paige stood and took a few steps toward the tub. “I loved that car. It was a bright-yellow 1970 vintage Mach 1.”
Adam gave a low whistle. “That’s a serious muscle car. Where’d you get that?”
“I inherited it from my aunt. It always pissed my mom off that Aunt Susan gave it to me.”
“Tell me you left the black hood stripe.”
“Of course.”
“Loud?”
“Very.”
He smiled. “Ginger must have loved that. You must’ve been a handful. I didn’t have a fast car—I had a plane. But I was definitely one of the kids at the Industrial Tech building with the cigarettes.”
Paige giggled. “I’m sure George loved the smoking.”
“Yeah. When I was fifteen, he made me smoke a whole pack at the kitchen table one morning while he watched me. That kicked my habit.”
“He probably did you a favor.”
Adam made an odd sound in his throat but said nothing to that.
Paige allowed herself another long look at him. She wanted to know more about his boyhood—what drove him to be so isolated, why he’d always been so angry. But that boyhood scowl from her memory made a lot of sense when she thought about the fact he’d grown up with George. She’d never thought of that at the time. George had always scared her, too. She didn’t really blame Adam for being an introvert, or avoiding her and her family in whatever way he’d known how. It was probably a chance to escape, much in the same way her black eyeliner and Mach 1 were—a chance to feel some sense of control over a life that seemed as if it was happening against your will.
“You took me by surprise when I saw you,” Adam said suddenly. “You didn’t match my memory.” He readjusted his arms against the edge of the tub.
“Because I didn’t have my scythe?”
He chuckled. “Something like that.”
The crickets resumed their chorus as Paige wriggled her toes again. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to tell him, or how much she wanted him to remember—she definitely didn’t want him to put the pieces together that she’d been the one to tell on him to her mom. But he was letting her in a little, and she didn’t know how to resist. He was like a drug.
“You weren’t how I remembered, either,” she found her voice saying. She almost wanted to slam her hand over her mouth.
Adam gave a low laugh and finally looked right at her. He looked as if he was going to say something to that, but the water suddenly sloshed as he lowered his arms. He shifted forward, pressing his palms along the bench, and cleared his throat. “Listen, Paige, the timer on these bubbles is going to go off in about ten seconds, and once they stop, you’re going to get a view you very well may not want, so I suggest you give me a second to get out and grab a towel.”
Paige could hardly take her eyes off the new position he was in—his glistening shoulders, the way his muscles flexed in such a testosterone-driven way. She felt like her thirteen-year-old hormones were shooting off fireworks again. But then she forced her adult brain to put together what he was saying: He was naked in there? She wondered how inappropriate it would sound to say she’d actually love the view. It had been a while. But instead she slowly turned her back.
She heard the water slosh again and his bare foot slap the deck as he hoisted himself out of the tub.
She tried to make small talk to keep her mind from picturing what he must look like. “Do you always come out here and enjoy your hot tub naked?”
His to
wel shook out. She heard it ruffle as he dried himself. The jets suddenly died with a hiss, and the deck went silent. He didn’t seem as though he was going to answer that.
“What do your guests say?” she pressed, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice.
His footsteps slapped heavily against the wood, coming toward her around the side of the tub. “Sometimes ‘thank you,’” he said over her shoulder.
A loud clank rang into the night, and suddenly the entire deck was draped in darkness. Paige stifled a scream.
Adam mumbled a few curse words under his breath. “I’m here,” he said calmly. His touch on her elbow caused her to jump. “Sorry. I forgot the timer was set for only twenty minutes. Take four steps this way.” He tugged at her elbow, but the blackness was so disconcerting, she froze. She took one awkward step, but she couldn’t get a sense of her footing.
“Paige, it’s okay. The hot tub is right behind you, and if you move to the right, you’ll fall. I’m right here. Trust me. Move this way.”
His hand was wet and warm. She could have sworn the hot tub was the other way, but she’d twisted a bit when she’d heard the clank, so maybe she was turned around. Fear could do that. She could smell the chlorine on him, could sense heat emanating from his skin. She felt drips on her shoulder and wondered if he was standing so close that they were coming from his chin or his hair. She wanted to trust him. His palm pressed firmly into the back of her elbow, soaking her velvet jacket. The heat traversed the fabric with ease. She remembered the arms, the wrists, the strong hands she’d just been ogling, and thought about them touching her now in this darkness.
“One more step,” came his voice.
She begrudgingly gave him one more; she couldn’t help but do it with resistance. Stepping into unknown blackness had always scared her. She had a hard time trusting any people at all, let alone men. Let alone this man, who could’ve easily hated her and her mom for sixteen years.
After her last faltering step, she felt his hand move away. His towel ruffled again. As her eyes continued to adjust and her breathing returned to normal, his outline started to materialize, and she could see that he was about six feet away, his back now to her, drying off his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen, not a care in the world. As his towel slipped, though, she turned away quickly.
“You okay?” he asked. Ruffle, ruffle.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. Ruffle, ruffle. She wondered what he was drying off now.
“Yep.” She glanced away and tried to focus on a cypress tree until it came into full view. The moon had disappeared behind a night fog.
He chuckled from behind her. “Are you always this nervous around water? Or is it the darkness?”
“It’s . . . uh . . . well, yes, I get a little nervous around both.” And naked men I’ve been fantasizing about since I was thirteen.
“Accidents or something?”
“You could say that.”
“Is that why the townspeople always called you Calamity June?”
She managed a haughty lift to her chin. “I haven’t been called that in years. And I’d prefer you didn’t, either.”
She suddenly noticed a pain shooting through her toe. She bent forward to take a look and thought she saw drops of blood, although it was hard to see in the dark. Damn. How was she going to shake the nickname Calamity June if things like this kept happening to her?
“I think I might . . . uh . . . have a splinter or something.”
He came up from behind her, his towel now secured around his waist, his hair standing damply on end.
“It is June 1 now,” he said, bending to look at it. “You’re bleeding. Here, follow me. I’ll get you something for that.”
Paige followed him through the dark, trying to ignore the June 1 comment, focusing instead on the crickets chirping around them.
Instead of heading through the glass lobby door, Adam walked toward the back steps of his own place. I’m going into his house again? Paige took a few deep breaths for calm.
An old border collie came trotting out the door and nuzzled up against Adam’s leg to greet him. Paige stared at the dog and recognized his coloring. “Is that Denny?”
Adam glanced back at her. “Yeah. You remember Denny?”
“He was a puppy when we used to come over.”
“That’s right. He’s an old man now—sixteen—but still the most loyal dog ever. You have a good memory, Paige.”
Danged right I do. She hobbled behind him, trying to keep her eyes trained away from the body she remembered all too well, and from the towel outline of his apple-shaped bottom, but she failed, and bumped right into the stair rail. He turned and gave her a look that had a mixture of disbelief and pity, then opened the door for her and Denny.
The Mason kitchen was exactly as she remembered: too much wood paneling, cast-iron cabinet handles, a huge butcher-block table for eight to the right. It was, in fact, the same table where she’d sat with her mom, late one night, telling George what had happened with Adam and Samantha. It had been the night George had sent Adam away.
Paige stared at the door Adam had disappeared behind, remembering it led to the bedrooms. As she waited for him to bring back a Band-Aid or a pair of tweezers or whatever he’d disappeared for, rubbing her arm where she’d bumped into the rail and staring at her toe that was still bleeding, she heard a noise in the hallway and glanced up.
Around the corner came Amanda in a pair of low-cut pajama bottoms and a tiny T-shirt that left a band of smooth, flat stomach showing. She shuffled across the room in a pair of UGG boots that were crumpled down at the sides.
“Hey,” she said, heading toward the fridge.
Adam strolled out of the hallway, now in jeans and a T-shirt, holding a box of Band-Aids. Paige turned to stare at him, then Amanda, trying to put the pieces together.
“Amanda, you remember Ms. Paige Grant from earlier tonight?” Adam said, walking through the room to hand Paige the box. “Paige, meet Amanda, my daughter.”
The box and all thirty-six Band-Aids skittered across the floor.
CHAPTER 6
Paige shoved the last of the Band-Aids back in the box, then tried to focus on her toe, which was propped up now, at Adam’s insistence, on a chair.
Adam came over with a basin of warm water, tweezers, and tape. He made small talk about fixing the wooden planks around the Jacuzzi, which she tried to focus on, but all she could think of was the fact that he had a teenage daughter.
A teenage.
Daughter.
It didn’t take much calculating, or a DNA test, to figure out that the daughter was his and Samantha’s. Once Paige looked at her more closely, right before Amanda grabbed a Coke out of the fridge and escaped to a back room, she could see the resemblance clearly. Samantha had always had a glamorous look about her—long hair that fell in soft curls around her face like Veronica Lake’s, which was what Paige had assumed Adam, and all men, liked back then. Amanda didn’t have that glamour about her—the dyed-blue tips looked more rebellious than glamourous—but she had the same almond-shaped blue eyes Samantha had and the same delicate nose. Her lips were full and pouty like Samantha’s, although Amanda’s held no smile.
But where is Samantha?
When she finally got up the nerve to ask, Adam glanced up from his position near her foot. “Dead,” he answered, low, finally getting the splinter out. He cleaned up the remaining drops of blood on the floor and tossed the rag aside.
“I’m so sorry,” Paige sputtered. “Did you . . . did you two marry?”
“No.” He washed his hands at the kitchen sink.
He didn’t seem ready to give more information than that, but he was sort of trapped here now, with Paige sitting on his kitchen table, so she thought she’d try to drag a little more out of him. “Did you co-parent, then?”
“No.” He dried his hands on a towel behind him.
Paige figured he was only going to give answers one sentence a
t a time. Adam didn’t exactly seem like the kind of guy who would tell his life story. She tried again. “Did you get to see Amanda often?”
“I didn’t even know I had a daughter until six months ago.” He closed a cabinet that had the first-aid kit inside and looked around, as if searching for keys. “Here, why don’t you go out this way?” He indicated the door to the lobby.
Six months ago? Paige tried to make sure her mouth hadn’t dropped open as she slid off the table to put weight back on her foot. She followed his momentum toward the lobby, hobbling along while her mind still whirled.
“Six months ago?” she whispered up at him as she passed him in the doorway.
He reached forward to open the next door for her. She could smell the clean, chlorine-mixed-with-sandalwood-soap scent that wafted off his T-shirt as he herded her into the voluminous lobby.
“That must have been a shock,” she pressed.
“Mmm.” He guided her past the lobby front desk, where he waved to a thin, balding man that must be Mendelson, then ushered Paige along the flagstone flooring, past the stone fireplace, and toward her room.
“Where were they living all these years?” she asked.
“I should introduce you to Mendelson. I’ll introduce you to the staff tomorrow. They can help you around here until I get your place secured. We’ll have it ready before the dude group comes.”
Paige let him derail her for a second. “How many staffers are there?”
“Fifteen or sixteen.”
“What do they all do?”
“Eight ranch hands, sometimes ten in busy seasons. A maid for the resort. A cook. Someone mans the front desk twenty-four hours. Kelly works in the daytime, a woman named Joanne works early evening, and a guy named Little fills in on days off. Mendelson works overnight. Joanne also handles the wedding planning, and Mendelson coordinates the dude-ranch visits. Little does my handiwork.”
Love on Lavender Island (A Lavender Island Novel Book 2) Page 6
