Chapter 6
6
I t was midnight, and Dean was still awake, his mind working overtime with thoughts of Greer Gibson.
She was a beautiful, sexy woman. He could imagine himself in bed with her. He could almost taste her lips. And the rest of her. But she lived in the Bay Area and starting something with her here could create a mess down the road. He was married to his job. He had no desire to get into a relationship where he’d once again find himself accused of being neglectful.
Did all women expect constant attention? Though he’d been married, he didn’t have enough experience, not as far as long-term relationships went. But Greer was a career woman. Maybe she was a bit of a workaholic too. Maybe that’s why she’d chosen not to have kids.
But he had his daughters to consider. He was here to fix things, having screwed up for all those years, missing so many important milestones in their lives. He’d almost decided to do the zip-line with them tomorrow, but he’d been afraid they’d back out the moment they realized he was coming. Despite his long talks with Bernice, the best mother he knew besides Nana, he still didn’t know how to reach them. None of her suggestions worked. His girls stubbornly refused to sit down with him, just as they had tonight. He was clueless. In desperation, he’d even tried talking to Jessica, but his ex-wife shut him down immediately, saying, “It’s your own fault. You can’t expect them to just roll over and say, ‘I love you, Daddy,’ after you’ve ignored them for twenty years.”
He wanted to fight back, wanted to say he hadn’t ignored them. When he was home, he was all there for them.
And that was the problem. He hadn’t been home enough, and when he was home, he often had a work crisis to deal with. Jessica was right. He’d made his own bed and didn’t know how to make it right again. He’d never been the bedmaker in the family, only the breadwinner. That obviously hadn’t been enough.
Instead of chewing on the problem, which would only keep him awake, he turned back to thoughts of Greer. All the erotic things he’d like to do to her.
Naturally, the fantasies gave him wet dreams in the middle of the night, like he was a teenage boy again. And yet, he felt rested in the morning.
When the sun streaked across his bed, bringing him fully awake, he reached for his phone and texted his daughters. How about breakfast?
Lisa replied first. We don’t eat breakfast.
He slumped back against the pillows. Of course they didn’t. Or if they did, it certainly wouldn’t be with him. He’d booked a three-bedroom suite, which they were sharing with some of the older kids. He’d gotten into the baby game later in life, and his two daughters were only a little older than some of his great-nieces and nephews. The living arrangements worked for him, and they seemed acceptable to them, especially since they were all zip-lining today.
He was glad he hadn’t gone with them. Fear of the cold shoulder, or actually having them back out, kept him at bay.
Instead, he headed down to breakfast alone. It was early, the lobby fairly empty, and he didn’t see any of the family. Maybe he was the only restless one.
He’d just asked for a table in the same restaurant they’d been in last night when he saw Greer, already sipping her coffee. He thought, What the heck, and strolled to her table. “Mind if I join you?”
His heart leaped in his chest at her pretty, inviting smile. “Of course. I’d be delighted.”
The waiter brought his coffee, and he added a little cream and a sugar cube. “You’re up early.” Only a few of the tables were occupied, and the falconer was out with his bird of prey, scaring away the food-stealing sparrows.
Greer nodded, closing her eyes briefly. “It’s the time change. It messes with my internal clock. But I’ll probably crash early tonight.”
“Don’t forget, you’ve got the gondola ride and the volcano show.”
Her smile reached her eyes, and the look she gave him seemed to wrap around his insides. “I’m looking forward to it. Phillip sent over a ticket. Thank you all for inviting me.”
“Have you ordered, or are you doing the buffet?”
She waved an airy hand in that direction. “After last night’s dinner, I’m going with something lighter. Toast and fruit.”
He let a smile dance across his lips. “You’re right. And we’ll have lunch in Puerto Vallarta.” When the waiter arrived, he ordered the same. After a sip of coffee, he asked, “So tell me, you’re CFO now. Are you shooting for CEO soon?” He was aware of the glass ceiling, but women seemed to bust through it these days.
She shook her head. “I don’t want to be CEO.” She added a shrug of her shoulders, bared by the flowery sundress she wore. Her skin was smooth. And kissable.
He had to stop thinking that way, at least when she was around. Save it for your dreams, Adamo.
“Why not?” he wanted to know. “You seem like a very competent businesswoman.”
She picked up a spoon, stirred her coffee for a second, then laid it down again. “I just don’t like that job. Too much schmoozing with investors, a lot of travel. Not that I don’t meet with investors occasionally, as well as customers and vendors. But I like numbers, getting deep into them. I enjoy the nitty-gritty of budgets and figuring out ways to reduce costs.” She laughed. “I see numbers in my sleep.”
He saw her in his sleep.
Then she added, “It’s not the Peter Principle.”
He knew the term, where people were promoted to the level of their incompetency. “I can’t imagine you’d be incompetent at anything you try.”
For a second, something he couldn’t read flashed across her face.
“But I agree,” he added. “You have to love what you do.”
“Then you must love schmoozing investors and customers.” There was a brief uptick to her smile.
“I do. I love the travel. And I’m not into the nitty-gritty of the programming anymore. Not unless there’s a huge problem on a new rollout.”
“Then I’ll ask you the same thing. Where do you see yourself going? Chairman of the board?”
He chuckled, looking her straight in the eye instead of down at his coffee cup. “That’s for my dotage. When you make big bucks sitting on different boards across multiple companies and basically rubberstamp everything the executives put before you.”
“Does that mean you’re like me? You love exactly what you’re doing?”
Dean pursed his lips, rolled his head back and forth on his neck. Thinking. “Not exactly what I’m doing. I’d like to expand the company. Open some international offices. Otherwise, things get stagnant.”
“I hear you. But I’m not feeling stagnant. There’s always something new in what I do.”
“I didn’t mean?—”
But she cut him off. “I know you didn’t. I’m just saying.”
The toast and fruit arrived then, and the falcon flew overhead, sending the small birds twittering into the air.
This time Greer didn’t jump. “I love that falcon.”
She added the bare minimum of butter and jam to her toast, while he slathered it on. The first bite was amazingly sweet.
“This jam is made in Mexico,” he told her. “It’s better than anything we have.”
She tasted, closed her eyes, savored. And he savored her, in a way he shouldn’t. He had another agenda for this vacation. His girls.
He wasn’t averse to quick flings on a trip. In fact, he liked them. He met women who wanted exactly the same thing, just a couple of pleasurable nights on a business trip. He’d never indulged while he was married. And now he made sure the woman wasn’t married either.
But Greer was different. Somehow she got under his skin, even if he couldn’t afford it. Especially since she lived in the Bay Area.
But that didn’t stop him from wanting to know more about her. Or spending the day with her. He knew her better than he had last night and felt he could now ask his burning question. “Tell me why a woman like you is all alone at a resort?” He could have called her gorgeous, but that was too forthright. And sexual.
Instead of taking offense, she laughed. “That sounds like the worst pickup line.”
He laughed with her. “We’ve already met. Shared a meal. And we’re going out with my mother for the day. We’ve moved way beyond a pickup line.”
It was flirty. He hadn’t flirted in a long, long time. The women he met while on business knew the score. He didn’t need to flirt. There was just a look.
“Even so, it’s a nosy question,” he added. “I’m just curious.”
“I’ll tell you.” She laid her toast down, reached for her fork, eating a piece of fruit before she went on. “My boyfriend broke up with me. It was all very sudden just before I left.”
What kind of idiot would break up with her right before their vacation? Obviously an idiot who didn’t deserve her.
She laughed, not the usual gentle sound, but with a touch of reproach that seemed directed at herself. “It always sounds odd for a fifty-five-year-old woman to call a man her boyfriend.”
Fifty-five. He’d suspected she was only a couple of years younger than his fifty-eight. But still, she looked damn good. He also liked that she didn’t mind saying her age. Some women were touchy about it. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Then he observed, “But you don’t seem too broken up about it.”
“That’s because I’m still mad,” she said with a brittle smile. “And because Conrad and I still have to talk when I get home. And figure things out.”
So there was hope. Except that Dean wasn’t supposed to be hoping. It was an even worse idea since she was just coming off a breakup. She might be looking for a replacement. She might be totally done with men for now.
Or she might decide the time was right for a brief fling.
Greer was afraid she’d said too much over breakfast. Or maybe she hadn’t said enough. She wanted to avoid revealing that Conrad accused her of sleeping with another man.
Although she didn’t put it past Bernice to tell her brother.
It didn’t matter. Because Greer was enjoying the day out with Dean Adamo and his mother, his three sisters, and the two husbands.
The sun was warm on her shoulders, which she’d covered with sunblock before she left. And there was something in Dean Adamo’s dark-chocolate gaze when he looked at her that made her feel sexy in the flirty sundress.
They piled into two taxis, with Bernice wedged between Nana and Greer in the backseat. Dean had taken the front seat. Ralph had climbed into the other taxi along with Sylvia, her husband Ian, and Fabiola. Bernice had told her Fabiola lost her husband ten years ago, a heart attack. She’d tried to match up her younger sister, but Fabiola was having none of it.
As they drew into the city, the roads got rougher, narrower, and bumping over the cobblestones was enough to make Greer’s teeth chatter. Motorcycles and mopeds whizzed by on both sides, streaming through the occasionally stopped traffic. High-rise apartment buildings nestled against others that needed to be torn down. A sign outside the Starbucks quoted prices that were, after converting the pesos, close to what she’d pay back home.
The driver dropped them off at the end of the city’s boardwalk and they all climbed out, the second taxi arriving almost on their bumper.
Greer opened her purse, saying to Dean, “I’ll get this.”
But he stilled her with a hand on hers. She tried to ignore the sudden jolt of electricity. “Don’t worry. It’s already paid for,” he said.
She didn’t want to be a freeloader. “Then I hope you’ll let me pay for the taxi ride home.”
He looked at her for a long moment. As if he were assessing her. And finally said, “Thank you. That would be nice.”
She’d thought he might fight her on it but was glad he didn’t.
“Let’s walk along the Malecón ,” Dean suggested after the cabs pulled away. “It’s a mile-long boardwalk with lots of statues, shops, and restaurants.”
They all agreed and stopped at the entrance to the stone boardwalk before a magnificent spiraling bronze statue. Dean read a nearby sign, acting as their tour guide. “It’s called The Millennia , and it symbolizes the passage of time.”
Sea creatures rose out of a wave that spiraled up to what could have been a rendering of Neptune and ending with a woman holding up her hands to set a bird free. A huge black raven sat on the bird’s wing, and Greer snapped a picture, enjoying the contrast of the living bird adding to the passage of time, almost as if it were a part of the statue.
She turned to the seawall and the view of the small fishing boats in the water below. Seabirds, mostly pelicans, covered every available space onboard, so many that some boats rode almost at the waterline.
Dean checked his watch. “If we hurry, we can see the Papantla pole flyers.”
Nana tipped her face up to him, squinting against the sun. “What are the pole flyers?”
“They perform a ritual dance on top of a sixty-foot pole,” Dean explained. “Its origins are back even before the conquistadors came to Mexico.”
Bernice jutted her hip and grimaced at him. “Did you look that up on the internet?”
“I saw them when I was here before, with the girls.” Then he smiled. “And yes, I looked them up online.”
Greer wondered if he’d come with his wife as well.
Dean said to the others, “I’ll walk with Nana. You guys find a good place to see the show.”
The little lady huffed. “I can make it.”
He laid his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want you to catch your toe on one of these stones and have a fall on the first day of our trip.”
She harrumphed but still looped her arm through the crook of Dean’s elbow. He pointed ahead. “See that pole on the beach?”
Greer made it out in the distance, and Ralph nodded. “We’ll save the perfect spot for you,” he said, and the group took off at a fast clip.
Greer hung back. “I’ll walk with you and Nana.”
She was actually surprised the elderly woman had neither a cane nor a walker. But Nana still grumbled, “You don’t need to slow down for me. I can keep up.”
“I know. But indulge me,” Dean said, soothing her ego.
Greer realized Nana wasn’t fooled when the woman said to her, “He’s such a good boy. I always taught him to tell old ladies little white lies to make them feel better.”
Laughing, Greer said, “There’s always a place for little white lies to save someone’s feelings.”
Nana curled her arthritic fingers around Greer’s. “I like you, dear.” Then the lady quizzed her. “I couldn’t hear anything going on down at your end of the table last night. Tell me all about yourself. Greer is such a lovely name. Like Greer Carson. You’ve probably never heard of her, but she was a famous actress back in the forties. I loved her in Mrs. Miniver .”
Greer surprised her by saying, “She was also in Pride and Prejudice with Laurence Olivier.”
Nana smiled dreamily. “He was so swoonworthy.” Greer and Dean exchanged a look over her head. “I prefer their version of Pride and Prejudice above any others.” Then her brow furrowed. “No, no.” She held their linked hands in the air. “I adore the Colin Firth version. He’s a hottie.” Greer barely managed not to laugh as the lady went on. “But Edna May Oliver as Lady Catherine de Bourgh in the original version was absolutely marvelous. I truly don’t believe any of the other actresses have played her so well.”
There was certainly nothing missing in Nana’s mind. She seemed sharp as a tack, as the old cliché went, even using modern phrases.
“I so agree,” Greer said, then looked at Dean. “Don’t you agree that Laurence Olivier was swoonworthy? And Colin Firth is a hottie?”
Greer adored the laugh that came out of him. She felt his big baritone with a thrill on the inside.
“He was marvelous,” Dean agreed. “But Greer Garson was a little too old to be playing Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Oh, pishposh,” Nana burst out. “She was only thirty-six.”
Greer mused that, technically, she was now old enough to have been Greer Garson’s mother at the time.
Dean didn’t let it go. “But Elizabeth Bennet was only twenty in the novel.”
Nana snorted, making a comical face that resembled a pig. “That’s irrelevant. Greer Garson did a marvelous job.” Then she squeezed Greer’s fingers. “And that’s why I simply adore your name.”
Ahead of them, the others had found a seat on the edge of a large planter in front of the sixty-foot pole. The seats surrounding the area filled up with tourists, and a crowd gathered on the boardwalk while four men milled about on the sand at the bottom of the pole. Their colorful clothing shone brightly in the morning sun. Dean led Nana to the planter seat Bernice had saved between her and Ralph, and the lady perched on the edge.
Dean, surprisingly, wrapped his hand around Greer’s. “Let’s sit there.” He led her to the empty spot beside Sylvia and her husband Ian. It was a tight squeeze, and her thigh pressed to Dean’s, her bare arm resting against his warm skin.
Suddenly far hotter than the day’s eighty degrees should have made her, she rushed to say something to hide her feelings. “Is this truly an ancient ritual dance? Or were you just saying that to entice your mother?”
With a toothy grin, he said, “I would never lie to my mother.”
She nudged him with her shoulder. “Except for little white lies.”
His smile was adorable, like a kid hiding the broken pieces of a porcelain figurine he’d accidentally knocked over. “It’s only a lie if it’s told with bad intentions. Little white lies always have good intentions.”
She laughed at him. “I can remember a few little white lies I’ve told to save my skin.” Accidents were unacceptable in her childhood home.
He gave her that deep baritone laugh again, and she shivered inside.
She didn’t want to think about Conrad, but seated—almost connected—with Dean, Conrad popped into her mind. Had they truly broken up?
Or was she stepping over the line with these sensual feelings about another man?