Wrapped Up in a Beau (11 page)

“Mason.” She caressed the back of his neck, and he met her gaze. “I'm thinking about delaying my flight a few days.”

His eyes widened, hardly believing what he heard.

She cleared her throat, after he didn't respond. “Would that be okay? Because if it's not then—”

His mouth smothered her words. “God, you were reading my mind. Not to mention my sister would love it. I can show you more of Swan's Crossing, drive you to some places outside of town, take you to New York City. There's so much I want to do with you and a few days isn't going to cut it.”

“Slow down, Yankee.” Mason prayed he wasn't scaring her away with his excitement, because she pulled out of his arms shyly. “I told you I didn't want to get into anything complicated.”

Attempting to keep the mood light, he caught her hand, and hauled her back with a grin. “Sorry, I got a little carried away. What's so complicated about having fun? I'm having a good time. Aren't you?”

“Yes,” she replied, her mouth turning up to smile.

“Nothing will change except your departure date. I promise, you won't regret it.”

She searched his eyes, as if suspecting a hidden agenda. “That's all then? Nothing more than that?”

“I can't handle more than that. Can you?”

“Definitely not. I like to keep things casual. And honest. I want to be frank about what we're really doing here.”

“It's the best policy, after all.”

She bubbled with laughter. “I don't want any feelings to get in the way. One day at a time until we go our separate ways. No expectations. This is basically a fling.”

“You do know how to make it easy on a man.”

Her lips curved in a smile as she cocked her head and studied him, rubbing the back of his neck. “I like you, Mason. You make me laugh. You're fun and easy to spend time with. And…” She bit her bottom lip. “Well, we're pretty good together in bed.”

With a wolfish smile, he locked his hands on her hips and hoisted her up on the edge of the couch. “Pretty good? I'd say we were downright
amazing
together. In bed.” He kissed her, craving her again. She whimpered when he pulled back. Looking into her eyes, he yearned for her to say more. The sex was amazing, yes. But they were good for each other together in other ways; she clearly didn't want to acknowledge that at the moment.

She brought him in for another kiss and leaned back so far, they toppled over the sofa onto the cushions. She yelped and he laughed. Feeling playful, he reached under her sweater to tickle her ribs, loving how she wiggled wildly beneath him, her joyous laugh like music to his ears.

He'd just agreed to a no-strings-attached fling. Although he should've been elated she didn't expect—or want—more, a small part of him wished she would've asked if he did.

Chapter Ten

“I want to stay in my room, damn it.”

Greta smiled as she pushed Christopher's wheelchair down the long hall toward the family room, where everyone else was waiting to open presents. It was Christmas Eve, and in this household, gifts were opened the night before the big day. In the morning, they were to unpack their stockings, eat a big breakfast and try not to strangle each other before dinner at their neighbors'. At least, that was Mason's version.

“Why would you want to stay cooped up in your room all alone? The fun is out here, handsome.” She plopped a Santa hat on his head and stopped the chair to kiss his cheek.

He grunted, but left the hat alone, and gave no other protest as she guided him into the room and parked him near the tree.

“Oh good, Santa's here,” Mason joked when they entered.

Christopher pointed a finger at his grandson. “Shut up, boy. You know which side of the naughty or nice list
you're
on.”

Mason beamed at her for cajoling their grandfather out of hiding. Even Mrs. Renclair hadn't been able to persuade her father-in-law to join them, and was visibly surprised. She gave Greta a grateful hug, impressed. Something Greta knew wasn't a common thing to accomplish with the matriarch of the family.

Sophie handed her a glass of sparkling wine. “What's your secret? Fairy dust? Hypnosis?”

“Bribery. I hid a small flask in his pocket and told him to spike his punch when your mother was preoccupied. Don't worry, there's only a splash in there. The rest is water.”

Sophie swallowed her laughter as she took a sip of wine. “Crafty. And fearless. You're the best.”

Greta lowered her voice. “Are you sure it's all right if I stay a few days more? I have no problem getting a room at the hotel.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Of course it's all right. Stay as long as you want. I'm so excited you're extending your visit, by the way.” She leaned in, near-whispering. “And I don't know what you've done to my brother, but keep it up. I've never seen him like this.”

“Like what?”

“Happy. With Mason here, it makes all the difference. My parents are getting along for more than five minutes, and now look. Even Grandpa is smiling. And it's all because of you!”

“I wouldn't give me that much credit.”

“Well, I would! You are the reason Mason canceled his trip, after all.”

From across the room, he caught her eyes, held them, then slowly smiled as he grabbed a handful of nuts out of a bowl. Her heart turned over. A part of her reveled in his open desire for her. “H-how do you know that?”

“Uh oh. I thought for sure he would've told you,” Sophie murmured, feigning only a shadow of guilt. “Besides, I thought it was obvious for a woman as sharp as you. Don't you remember me saying nothing short of a miracle would stop my brother from leaving for Christmas? Well, you
are
that miracle, Greta.” Sophie read the surprise on Greta's features. “Bless your heart. You really did have no idea! It's true, though. He told me so himself.”

“I thought it was because of business or something. A change of heart.” She actually couldn't recall an explanation.

“It was. A change of heart that beats for you,” Sophie sang, batting her eyelashes.

“Shh. You're not funny. It's nothing like that. We're…well, we aren't… That is…”

Sophie clinked her glass with Greta's. “You're so funny when you stammer.” Then strutted off to join her father at the tree.

Mason came over, impeccably dressed casual in light-colored slacks, a collared shirt, and a pullover. So handsome, deliciously urbane. She wanted to pull him into a closet and have her way with him. He placed a hand at her back and a thrill raced from the bottom of her spine up to her head, dizzying her.

His voice was silken. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

She smiled. Of course she'd kept him solely in mind when she'd gotten dressed this evening in her wrap black dress with her hair up. Only so he could unravel the dress himself and undo her hair when they were alone.

When she'd suggested prolonging her stay, her heart had pounded. She'd played it cool, and made sure to lay out some rules. For herself more than for Mason. Keep it light. Call it a fling. He didn't have any problem with that. Why would he? He didn't want to get into anything serious any more than she did.

The past three days had been amazing, full of surprises, a little spontaneity, and a lot of fun, though she had to turn in her Mustang to the rental car company as a price.

Mason had them and his parents flown into New York City to see
The Nutcracker
. That night, she and Mason spent the night at the Ritz, dancing in their suite and ordering pancakes at 2 a.m. The following evening, back in Swan's Crossing, she talked him into ice-skating. He'd begrudgingly agreed, but when she started a conga line of children and latched onto him to guide them, he'd proudly played leader of the pack. One of the kids had slipped and fallen. A domino effect occurred, taking Greta and Mason with the rest, and no one was laughing harder than her handsome date. They also spent a couple hours a day helping out at Galore, and brought Christopher with them for dinner at the hotel. The old man was actually grinning by the time they left.

And in between all the fun, when they were finally alone, they made love long into the night. A morning never went by without her waking in his arms. It was going to be very hard to break that ritual.

“Mason, Greta,” his father called them. “Come on and take a seat. I'm dying to know what's in this pyramid-shaped box from your mother.”

“It's a paperweight,” grumbled Christopher.

Anne sighed, holding up one of her gifts, and shaking it. “I sincerely hope you didn't buy me another ‘As Seen on TV' gadget, Daniel. You know what a waste of money I think those contraptions are.”

“You still use the folding wallet I gave you ten years ago! I want everyone to know I bought your gifts at the same store,” her husband announced.

“My feet are cold! Put me next to the fire,” Christopher demanded, and Sophie hushed him, moving to oblige.

“All my presents are last minute,” Mason admitted as he took a seat on the sofa, leaned back and rested an arm on top of the pillows. “Since I planned to bring back souvenirs from Bali and er—that didn't happen, I did the best I could with the local fare.” He made a sweeping gesture. “Hope you all like bumper stickers and big packs of gum.”

His parents chuckled.

Sophie murmured, “I like gum…”

And Christopher rolled his baggy eyes.

What a funny family. Greta grinned. Mason patted the seat next to him, but after hesitating, she sat on the other side of Sophie. Mason gave her an odd look then shrugged.

Whenever she was close to him, it was next to impossible not to touch him somehow—brush her fingers through his hair, lay her head on his shoulder—and she didn't feel comfortable with PDA in front of his family.

Daniel began the tradition of passing out the presents, and the evening had begun. The best part about opening gifts was watching the family unwrap the ones she bought.

“Greta,” Anne said later on. “It's finally your turn.” She handed over a shiny gold-paper-wrapped box. “From me and Daniel. Though I'll tell you right now he thought his idea was better. It wasn't.”

Her husband threw up his hands. “Who doesn't love a custom-engraved gift card to Starbucks?”

“People who know what
real
coffee tastes like, dear. People who live in places like Paris and Italy! Worldly women like our Greta.”

She laughed, untying the ribbon. “You didn't have to get me a thing. Opening your home to me during the holidays is gift enough, really.”

“Gah!” Christopher slammed his fist. “Stop acting humble and open it.”

“Christopher, please,” Anne reproached. “We're happy to have you here, Greta. And we couldn't have you spending Christmas with us with no presents to open. It wouldn't be right.”

“Plus,” Daniel added, his Southern accent a little more pronounced since sipping on whiskey, “if she hadn't shown up when she did, Mason would probably be in Bali and my father wouldn't be in such a glorious mood.” He saluted her with a lift of his glass.

Greta's face flamed. Mason cleared his throat and Anne thrust her elbow in her husband's ribs.

“What?” he exclaimed, blinking innocence. “Was I not supposed to state the obvious?”

“Dad!” Sophie half-laughed. “Be quiet and let Greta open her gift without any of your
statements
.”

Heart racing, Greta tore open the gift, pretending Daniel's comment didn't embarrass her. She unwrapped a black box, embossed with a gold symbol on top. Opening it, she gasped with a smile. “Oh!” It was a miniature replica of one of the famous Fabergé eggs, green, gold and pink, a lily of the valley created to be a jewelry box. The soft lighting captured the glossy details and delicate trappings. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Renclair. It's breathtaking. It's exactly like the egg Tsar Nicholas II gave his wife. I'll cherish it.”

Anne smiled and gave a single nod. “You're welcome.” She slid her husband a look. “Starbucks card. Humph.”

“These are from me,” Sophie said as she passed her two boxes. “I hope you like them.”

Greta unwrapped Sophie's present: a beautifully long, delicate gold necklace, especially designed for backless dresses, and a matching gold clutch. Sophie knew how much Greta loved to accessorize when she dressed up. She hugged her good friend with a sincere thank you.

When Mason handed over his gift, her heart fluttered when it landed in her palms. When she lifted the top of the box, she laughed in delight and surprise. “A winter muff!” To help everyone else's bafflement, she added, “Exactly like the one I used when we read to the children at the hotel. I can't believe you even thought of this.” She ran her fingers over the black fur.

Mason grinned, pleased with her reaction. “There's a shop downtown that sells them. It was either a bonnet or a muff. Bonnets are currently out of style.” He winked.

She shook her head, amazed at his thoughtfulness. “I adore it.”

“Why? You live in Russia?” Christopher sneered.

Everyone shook their heads at the eldest Renclair. Greta answered, “Almost as cold. England.” She met Mason's eyes, wishing she could scramble into his arms and kiss him wildly. “Thank you, Mason.”

Their eyes held a little longer than she'd meant, but she couldn't look away.

“You're welcome,” he said, his deep voice making her stomach flip.

A silence settled on the small circle, until Christopher blurted, “Blech. It's hot as misery in here. Someone move me.”

It was Daniel who rose to help his father. “If you can't stand the heat, don't sit next to the fire, Dad.”

“You've got the same stupid humor as your son. And I never laugh.”

The tension broken, Greta let out the breath she'd been holding. The breath Mason could so easily steal from her.

What a difference a woman makes, Mason thought in amusement as he took in the scene around him. Or maybe the fact he hadn't stayed home for Christmas in five years and forgotten that among the bickering, the poking-fun, the grumbling, there were a few things he did enjoy.

“Mason.” His father waved him over to the other side of the room. At Mason's approach, he pulled out three books on the shelf. “Remember this ritual of ours?” Behind the leather-bound novels was a bottle of Bowmore 1955 40-year-old scotch, bottle number 268.

Mason shook his head, disbelieving. “You still have some left after all these years?”

“Only one shot a year. On Christmas Eve. Of course I still have some left.” Daniel grabbed the crystal decanter and pulled the stopper, sniffing the aroma of the rare vintage scotch. “Nothing like a little taste of heaven to go along with Christmas spirit, son. Here, before your mother or grandfather see.”

As if he could hear them from across the room, the senior Renclair craned his neck and hollered, “What are you two doing huddling over there like a couple of Yankee sneaks?”

Daniel's low grumble came first before he cleared his throat and feigned innocence to his father. “Showin' Mason my first edition copy of
A Farewell to Arms
, Dad. See?” He lifted the book, knowing full well his father wouldn't be able to see much of anything from that distance. As if Grandfather would believe him. Out of the corner of his mouth, he muttered, “Hurry up and pour some before he smells it.”

Mason chuckled. “Yes, sir.”

His father purchased this scotch almost ten years ago and paid a small fortune for it. Almost nine thousand dollars for the bottle, if memory served. Mother almost fainted when she'd found out how much he spent on a bottle of liquor, but she could hardly argue when she spent that amount every year on her wardrobe—only remarking that clothes and style were a necessity, whereas rare whiskey was not. Still, the man didn't spend much on himself, save for his weakness for a vintage bottle of scotch once in a while. Every year, Mason and his father took a shot of it on Christmas Eve as tradition. A tradition his father never wavered from. Since Mason had been absent for the past five years, he had missed out, as his father refused to share it any other time. Eager to continue with this ritual, Mason grabbed the two dusty shot glasses that had flanked the bottle.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Greta and Sophie engaged in animated conversation, his mother admiring her new diamond watch, and his grandfather squinting with all his might trying to see what Mason and Daniel were doing. Grinning, he poured a full shot in the glass and handed it to his father. “Still have to say a goal of mine for the next year before I take this down?”