Wrapped Up in a Beau

by Angelita Gill

  His sister rolled her eyes. “There must be a dozen things you can do. Take Greta for example, she filled her day exploring downtown all by herself and by the end of the day got a job at Galore.”

  “A job?” Mason exclaimed.

  “Um-hm. Sort of.” Sophie took a seat on the chaise and grabbed a magazine. “She went in there for a slice of cake and a latte and came out with a pro bono position. You know ever since Leo’s son joined the Army and his daughter moved away he’s had to handle the place alone. Mom says he’s too stubborn to hire an assistant manager. Anyway, Greta’s volunteered to help till his high school part-timers are out for break. Then they’ll be able to help him for the morning and lunch rush.”

  “Well, she doesn’t waste any time keeping busy,” he drawled. Barely here two days and she’d already made friendly with the locals.

  “Busy. Unlike you two lazy turkeys,” mumbled Christopher, dipping his finger in the liquor.

  Sophie flipped through the magazine and propped her feet up. “It’s only for a few hours during the midday rush. She loves it. At lunch she gushed about how much fun she had, can’t wait to go back. She told me if I had any free time during the day to come kill an hour or two and help. That’ll never happen for me, but you should ask Leo if he needs another pair of hands. Since you’re bored.”

  Yeah, right. He’d bet Greta wouldn’t appreciate it. But he’d do it just to bug her and at the same time help out a fellow business owner.

  Down the hall, he could hear his mother listing off demands to their housekeeper Linda and he braced himself. “What’s going on?” she asked, pausing elegantly in the doorway.

  Sophie chose to answer. “Nothing, Mother. We’re just talking.”

  Anne Renclair sashayed into the room in her designer lavender suit with a cool lift of her brow. “I find it odd to have all three of you huddled in here. What are you discussing without me?”

  “It’s not as if we’re committing espionage,” drawled Mason.

  His mother gave him a brief hug and kissed his cheek, then smoothed the hair above his ear and patted it. Something she made a habit of doing ever since he could remember. “I’m so happy you’re here for Christmas. I never understood why you ran off during the holidays year after year. Is it out of your system now? Do I have my old Mason back?”

  Mason suppressed the need to sigh. Her patronizing attitude was also a habit he could date back to his elementary years. Long ago he’d learned not to call her out on it; she would only defend herself until he was blue in the face. “Nothing’s changed except my itinerary.”

  “Yes, Mom, let’s not overanalyze it,” Sophie added.

  “Very well. I suppose now you’ll expect us to spend Christmas here instead of at the Spencers’?”

  Sophie set her magazine down with a sigh. “You can still go to the Spencers’ Christmas night. It’d be nice if we could spend Christmas Eve here at home. Don’t worry, I already started a grocery list. We’ll eat, open presents and play a game or something. Like we used to!”

  “That’ll be fine, dear.” Anne glanced over Mason’s shoulder and gasped. “Who gave Grandpa liquor? You’re both guilty for allowing it.” Marching, she snatched it away from her father-in-law, and he yelped.

  “Can’t a dying man have something in this world?” he complained.

  “Yes,” she shot back, splashing the brandy into a plant. “He can have apple juice or water. No brandy, no whiskey, except on extra special occasions. Do I have to threaten you with a live-in nurse again?”

  “If you can find a competent one!”

  “Do you know how many I interview on a monthly basis? I find you the best money can buy and you manage to make them nearly homicidal in less than a month.”

  “It’s not my fault!”

  “Florence Nightingale herself couldn’t get your approval.”

  Mason started to back out of the room, discreetly waving good-bye to Sophie as she narrowed her eyes at his exit.

  Everything in moderation.

  Mason shrugged into his coat by the east wing side door, but as he grabbed the knob, he paused, movement out the window catching his eye. He saw Greta trudging through the thick snow with a pile of wood in her arms. One log fell to the ground, almost tripping her in the process. His mouth curved to a smile.

  When she emerged from the guesthouse again, he was standing in front of her, smug as a bug. She wore an oversized sweater, leggings and pink UGG boots. The tights could tell no lies, her shapely legs and hips inspiring images that could melt the snow on the entire ten-acre estate. “Need help?”

  The beginnings of a smile twitched her mouth. “I can handle it.”

  “You know, I’m beginning to believe you about being so independent.”

  She raised her brows, trudging past him. “You don’t get very far as an adult without knowing how to take care of a thing or two yourself.”

  “True, but still,” he said, stomping through the snow behind her. “It’s rude to turn down help when someone is more than happy to do it. For nothing in return.”

  “Nothing? Yeah, right.” She stopped, hands on hips, and he took a brief moment to steal a glimpse of her derriere. When she looked back at him, he met her eyes. Hers narrowed.

  He raised his hands in defense. “Listen, I know you don’t need a man around. You’ve made that abundantly clear. Have you considered what it does to my pride every time you snub me?”

  She resumed her march through the ankle-high snow. “I think you’ll recover.” As they approached the back of the guesthouse, she gestured to the pile of logs. “But I guess it would be great if you could take a bundle for me. My fingers are numb.”

  “Was that so hard? Go back inside. I’ll bring the rest in.”

  Once he had an armful, he made his way back to the door, kicked the snow off his shoes and headed toward the fireplace. While Greta moved around in the kitchen, he took his sweet time arranging the logs. “Would you like me to start a fire? Or would that be too macho?”

  He could hear the smile in her voice as she answered. “You might as well finish what you started.”

  A small triumph. A minute or so later, he had a healthy fire going, and when he rose to turn around, he was offered a steaming mug of tea. “Thanks.”

  He noticed a small portable radio on the mantel, set to a local station. It was old and outdated, the speakers scratching out the tune “Blue Christmas”. Lifting a brow, he glanced at the petite state-of-the-art system built into the wall. “I could show you how to use the stereo. I know it appears a little complicated, but the remote does everything.”

  Greta flipped a hand. “Oh, don’t bother. I prefer my radio.”

  “Really? The sound doesn’t come in that well.”

  “I know it’s old fashioned, but I like it,” she replied. “Reminds me of the record player when I was little.” Moving to the sofa, she got comfortable, tucking her legs beneath her and leaning on the arm.

  Mason sat down in the loveseat opposite her. “Where were you before you came here? If that’s not too personal of a question.”

  She shrugged. “It isn’t. Before London, I was in Croatia. Spent the entire autumn there. I have a friend who owns a restaurant in Istria.”

  “Wow. Croatia. What’s the longest you’ve stayed anywhere?”

  “Hmm…since I was on my own? Six months. In India. And I still didn’t do all the things I wanted to do. The country is saturated in tradition, culture. I loved it there. Knowing people who live there was a major perk, though.”

  “Sophie said you were born in the U.S.”

  “Yep. Originally from Utah. No matter how long I live abroad, I’ll always come back to visit the U.S. when I can. But after this trip it’ll be a while before I jet off again. I’ve finally decided to settle down and stay put somewhere. I’m going to buy this little cottage in a villag
e called Willowcombe when I get back. It’s a start.”

  The beautiful nomad tired of moving from place to place. Too bad she lived a world away. “Where does this globe-trotting itch come from?”

  She gave this some thought. “Well, basically a couple years after high school, I became a nanny for a wealthy family. They lived in New York but I traveled with them all over Europe. I took care of two adorably rambunctious twins. The Hamiltons were good to me. Every time we went someplace new, I’d write down what I wanted to see, where I wanted to go. Over time I built up a good savings. Took forever. I wore the same clothes for years, never got a manicure or splurged on anything but the essentials. I saved almost every penny of my pay for five years then decided it was time to break away and start my own life. I’ve been living on the run, so to speak, ever since. I take small jobs here and there, save up and move on. Once you figure out what things should cost and how to get around, it’s not that hard.”

  So that’s how she afforded it. Truthfully, he’d thought she was a trust-fund girl all the way. Knowing she’d earned her comfy, wayfaring lifestyle heightened his admiration for her. Not only was she intelligent, beautiful and self-reliant, she knew what she wanted and went for it with seemingly no financial assistance. He could only respect that. “Quite the story. What made you decide to come to Swan’s Crossing for Christmas? I mean, I know my sister can be persuasive, but there has to be a reason you finally said yes.”

  Pressing her lips together, she leaned in and set the mug on the coffee table. “I suppose I longed for an old fashioned Christmas in the States. Paris, Bruges, London—they’re all wonderful and amazing this time of year, too. But there’s nothing like spending the holidays the American way. And Swan’s Crossing seemed as perfect as any place.”

  “It’s far from perfect, believe me.”

  She gave a small smile. “It’s close enough.”

  “What about family?” he asked, and instantly wished he hadn’t at the way she tensed.

  “You ask a lot of questions. No family. No brothers or sisters. Not even a distant cousin. Look, it’s getting late.” She pushed up from her seat, and he felt the proverbial walls rise with her. “Thanks for your help,” she told him, walking to the door.

  Chagrined, Mason got to his feet, regretting his barrage of questions. It was a natural thing to ask about family. The more he found out about her, the more he wanted to know. Not to judge or grill, but because he was fascinated by her. Now, it seemed, he’d offended her.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured as he came to the door. “I didn’t mean to interrogate you like that. I don’t need to know about where you’re from or who you’re related to. I get inquisitive when I like someone. It’s not every day I meet a woman who has seen more of the world than I have.” When she raised her eyes to his, he gently added, “I don’t want to go.”

  She leaned against the jamb, hand gripping the knob, studying him. “I know you were just making conversation.” Brown eyes shifted to a point past his shoulder. “You’re lucky, Mason, that you have what you have. Your whole family is here. No matter where you go, you have some place to come back to. It’s something to be cherished.”

  His smile was wan. “So is freedom.”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed. “It’s easy for someone like you to take what you have for granted. I can tell you’ve never been without.”

  This time he was the one who tensed. “My family may be financially wealthy, but I still had to earn what I have.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You can’t make me feel sorry for you.”

  “Greta, I’m not trying to.”

  By the wry look on her face, she wasn’t buying it, and when she began to turn the doorknob, he put his hand over hers. A current rocketed up his arm, shocking his system. Greta gasped, and it pleased him to know he wasn’t the only one who felt it.

  “Do you really want me to leave?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because—”

  “Because I’ve pissed you off?”

  “No. I—”

  “Because I was blunt?”

  “No.”

  “Because you think I’m a jerk for wanting to get to know you?”

  “No!” she cried. “Because—” She yanked her hand out from under his and swiveled on her heel. “Because I’m done with this conversation. Simple as that. You’re arrogant, cynical and pushy.”

  He followed her to the kitchen. “You don’t know anything about me, yet you’re as judgmental as the next woman who thinks because she’s seen a few things, she knows it all.”

  Greta swung around. “I’m nothing like that.”

  “Well now you know what it feels to be called something you’re not. You know what?” Mason raised his palms, shaking his head. “I don’t know why we’re even arguing! You were the one who got sensitive when I asked an innocent question about family. You don’t want me to try to get close to you, even though I know you feel as lonely as I do.”

  She threw up her hands. “More arrogance! You’re presuming what I think and feel.”

  Damn, this woman was infuriating. “Well, I won’t apologize for it.” Mason wasn’t sure how they went from a polite conversation in the living room to raising their voices in the kitchen. God, this woman drove him crazy! She was sexy, bewitching, complex and…and…hell with it. “Come here.” He clamped a hand on the back of her neck and kissed her, catching them both by surprise. Her lips were warm, soft, tasted like hazelnut. He groaned, pressing harder, wanting more, and though she resisted at first, she melted into it as his firm kiss turned tender. Moving his lips over hers, testing their velvety texture, he felt a thrill course through his body. Triumphant. Exclaiming a victory. He’d known she’d taste like this. Though his blood roared, and his hands itched to wander, he only let his tongue trace inside her warm mouth before he made himself break away.

  Finding himself a little short of breath, he took a step back. Heart pounding, mouth tingling, he sought to tamper down these base reactions. His voice came out rough as he told her, “I won’t apologize for that, either.”

  She said nothing as he walked out the door.

  Chapter Five

  After Mason left, Greta let out a shaky breath, and touched trembling fingers to her mouth. What was that?

  Her head swam as if she’d spun around in a circle a dozen times. She sat down in a stool, waiting for her heartbeat to steady.

  A simple kiss. Such a reaction over something so insignificant.

  As their conversation replayed itself in her mind, guilt sank in. She’d started the argument, true, by becoming defensive when he asked about family. In hindsight, she should’ve been prepared to answer questions about her background. She’d answered the same ones a thousand times! What did it matter that Mason Renclair asked them? It was as if she was a little embarrassed she didn’t come from a normal family like he did. As if it would’ve turned him off.

  But Mason had been right. She was lonely. Why else would she impose herself on another family’s Christmas? Though she had many friends all over the world who would’ve happily welcomed her during the holidays, she didn’t want to be taken in out of sympathy again.

  Poor Greta. Single. No family. No place to call home.

  Though her friends would never say so out loud, she knew they probably thought along those lines to some degree.

  All except Sophie. In her letters, she hailed Greta’s carefree lifestyle, by turns describing her “ordinary” life in Swan’s Crossing with her colorful family. The cantankerous grandfather, the controlling mother, the indifferent father and the bachelor brother. They were far from the ideal family unit, but despite their differences, they were close. Especially Mason and Sophie.

  They believed in keeping their family legacies alive. Greta envied siblings with such a relationship.

 
The next day, while she drove to Galore, Greta was determined to put Mason and his heart-stopping kiss out of her mind. She had plans to go shopping with Sophie and Anne, go out for dinner, then curl up by the fire with her journal and radio.

  As she pushed in the door to the shop, she wiped her boots on the mat. No customers were inside. “Leo?” Stripping off her scarf, she walked toward the counter as the Italian came out, grinning.

  “There’s my Christmas angel! I have a feeling it’s going to be extra busy today.”

  “Perfect. The busier I am the better.”

  His meaty hands rested on his hips. “Funny. That’s what Renclair said.”

  Greta stopped so sharply, her shoes made a loud squeak on the floor. “Who?”

  Leo didn’t have to repeat the name as Mason stepped out from the back, all fresh and handsome as ever in a casual button-up. “Hi, Greta.”

  You sly devil.

  “Sophie told me you’d asked for more help. Since she couldn’t be here, and I had some time on my hands, I volunteered in her place.”

  Greta pasted on a polite smile. “How thoughtful of her to enlist you.”

  Leo beamed. “Now I can give my customers even better service. I’ve already showed him a few things. The man catches on quick! Hardly surprising since he runs a corporation, no?” He leaned in, cupping a hand to the side of his mouth. “Plus he’s doing it for free. I’m a blessed man this Christmas.” A customer walked in. “Mrs. Vickers!” He turned to greet the elderly woman.

  Greta crooked her finger at Mason, and walked past him into a tiny office. He followed her with a knowing smile. When she turned to give him a piece of her mind, she found herself a little too flustered to speak. Even with his sleeves rolled up, black hair slightly disheveled and chocolate on his chin, he was more attractive than ever. Her heart was still thumping at the sight, the nearness. How dare he spoil her innocent day with his sexiness?