Daniel shrugged. “You’re thirty-five years old. I didn’t mind either way, as long as the company didn’t suffer. And it never has. I’m happy you’re here, though.”
Ben returned and set down a plate of oxtail, vegetables and a thoroughly buttered piece of bread. Mason had almost forgotten how well he ate at his parents’ home. Too bad the lectures and drillings about his life, mostly from his mother, often didn’t make the meal worth it. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat down with his father alone at home. If they met up for dinner, it was always in town at the hotel and they mostly discussed company business. Last year, his father had claimed a status of semi-retired, but spent almost as much time at the office as Mason did. Guess things like retirement were more of a weaning off than a sharp cut. Mason supposed when a man has worked most of his life, full retirement felt unproductive and dull. He didn’t mind. They had a good working relationship and he knew that was a blessing.
“Careful!” His grandfather’s hearty yell cut through the companionable silence. Linda pushed his wheelchair in the room and placed him at the end of the table where he always sat, even though it was too far down to have any normal conversation. Mason figured the eldest Renclair male just loved to hear his own voice when he shouted.
There were quite a few differences between his father and grandfather, but one of them was definitely their volume. While Mason couldn’t recall a time where his father raised his voice, he had a hard time remembering when Christopher didn’t.
“Can’t eat with all that noise. Turn off that racket,” his grandfather commanded. Without protest—because really what was the point?—Daniel rose and switched the radio off. Ben brought his plate and waited while Christopher inspected it. He always found something to complain about, from the temperature of the meat to how his veggies were arranged. Too weak to walk around the enormous estate and with his wife gone for so many years, his grandfather’s meticulous habits and sharp opinions were more due to a feeling of purposeless. He hated being waited on too, but with his physical frailty, he didn’t have a choice. On several occasions, Mason tried to get him out of the house but Christopher only complained the whole way there and back. Mason didn’t know what would make the man a little more pleasant to be around.
With his father absorbed in his meal and reading the stocks, obviously intending to keep to himself, Mason decided to move his chair closer to Christopher. The old man appeared startled as Mason plopped his chair at the corner of the table then picked up his plate and sat down.
“What are you doing?” Christopher muttered, poking a fork at his meat. “I don’t like to talk when I eat.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“Then why the hell did you bother sitting so close to me?”
Mason rested his forearms on the table. “I was at Galore this afternoon, that café downtown, and I thought of you today. Told everyone how you made me work at the MacIntyre farm during high school.”
The old man cracked a smile…or close as he could come to it with a twitch of his wrinkling lips. “I remember when you used to come in the house smelling like a pile of manure. Made your mother green in the face.”
“And drove many cute girls away.”
His grandfather gave a dry chuckle, then a robust cough. “It made you tough, you know. Your Grandpa Howard was an indoor man and even though I respected him, he was soft for a Northerner. And there was no way he,” he declared pointing to Daniel, “was ever going to make you do any hard labor.”
“I heard that,” Daniel murmured.
“I got the best of both worlds, Grandpa,” Mason stated, reaching for his knife. “You showed me how to sweat and Dad showed me how to build. It all worked out.”
Christopher continued to glower—did the man know any other expression?—but as he started on his boiled vegetables, there was a twinkle in his eyes.
It was close to eight o’clock when Mason’s mother, his sister and Greta returned from their shopping trip in Rochester. Their feminine voices rang high and spirited through foyer, and he smiled. He heard his sister’s rapid speech followed by Greta’s cultured, much softer words, punctuated by his mother’s low, condescending tone, the rustle of shopping bags being handed to Linda and the sound of heels clicking on the marble floor.
But when he came out to greet them, he caught Greta walking out the side door.
Damn. Missed her.
“How did it go?” he asked his sister. “Anything for me?”
Sophie sent him a smile, countless bags hanging off her arms. “Maybe. Did you have fun bonding with Dad and Grandpa?”
“Actually, we had a nice meal together.”
His mother raised a brow, plucking an earring from her lobe. “Oh? You didn’t give Christopher any whiskey, did you?”
“How much is too much? Are we measuring in spoons or cups?”
His mother sighed. “You do notice you and your father’s kind of humor never actually makes me laugh.”
“But that won’t stop me from trying until you do,” he retorted with a smile. “Since everyone is back, I think I’ll head home.”
“Before you go,” Sophie called as he headed to the door, “can I talk to you for a minute? It’s about you helping me out tomorrow at the Chamberlain.”
“Sure.” He bid good night to his mother, then joined Sophie in the den.
“All right, so that was just a cover,” she began, crossing her arms. “I didn’t want Mom to wonder why I wanted to speak with you in private.”
Tucking his hands in his pockets, he leaned back against the desk. “What is it?”
“Greta.”
He asked cautiously, “What about her?”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Please. It took me a minute or two to figure it out, but I know she’s the reason you canceled your trip.”
Man, he liked it better when Sophie wasn’t so perceptive. His first instinct was to deny it, but what for? Sophie was partly the reason Greta wouldn’t go out with him. Maybe this was the perfect time to ask for a little sisterly blessing. “How did you figure it out?”
Her expression said, Are you kidding? “It’s been pretty obvious from the get-go. At the party, when you said you had to go to the airport, you looked as if you were announcing your escort to prison. The way you were ogling Greta made it clear your decision to stay had a bit to do with her. I saw you two talking and dancing as if no one else was in the room. Your eyes haven’t left her since.” She slowly smiled, seemingly proud of her observation skills. “I always, in the back of my mind, wondered how it would go when you two actually came face-to-face.” She sighed. “I had a feeling this would happen.”
“That what would happen? Sis, if you’re against—”
“Let me finish. I had a feeling this would happen, and…I was sort of hoping it would.”
He regarded her a few moments. He hadn’t seen that coming and had a hard time believing it. “Really?” he asked skeptically.
“Sure. Why do you think I told you to keep her company? You’re single, she’s single. You like smart, pretty women and she thinks sarcasm is sexy. I would like to see someone enjoy a little holiday romance. But I know how she thinks and I had a little talk with her this afternoon. At first, she completely denied being interested in you, but then I did my little test to make sure.”
“What test?”
“I told her if she wasn’t interested in you, then she certainly wouldn’t care what you said about her, and I immediately changed the subject. It never fails. When she demanded I spill, I knew I had her.” She beamed with pride.
“I haven’t said anything about her to you.”
“She didn’t know that.”
Leave it to his sister to trick the truth out of someone. “Well, this is good. Being your brother was sort of cramping my style. That, and she claims she doesn’t date townies.”
Sophie giggled. “I bet you can change her mind. And who am I to stand in the way? You’re both adults. All I ask is that you don’t dominate her time. She’s my guest first.”
With a smile, he chucked his sister under the chin. “Thanks, Sophie. Never thought I would need your permission to get a date.”
“And I never thought you’d stay home for Christmas again! Life is full of surprises.”
Mason headed to the guesthouse, grinning. For most circumstances, he was a very patient man, but when it came to Greta, that attribute didn’t come into play. Not only was time not on his side, neither was the woman herself. He had to act now.
When Greta opened the door, she smiled with a sigh, shaking her head. “You talked to Sophie, didn’t you?”
“Actually, she talked to me.”
“You know, just because she’s encouraging us, doesn’t automatically mean I’ll change my mind.” She stepped aside to let him in. Again her nostalgic, ancient radio was on.
“You were only using your friendship with Sophie as an excuse.” He closed the door.
“I’m here to enjoy the festivities and relax. I don’t want to start anything complicated.”
“I don’t even want to touch complicated. I promise to keep it simple. We’ll have fun. Whatever you want to do, name it. We can volunteer our asses off.” Her soft laughter made his stomach dip in pleasure. “Come on, you’re tempted. I know you like me.” When her eyes shot to his, he raised his brows. “Don’t you? Throw me a life raft here. I’m drowning.”
“It’s more like I find you—amusing.”
“Good enough. I’ll amuse you all night long.”
She laughed again, a musical sound. He found it contagious, and he knew he’d won. She bit her lip, gave it another moment of consideration then nodded. “All right, I’ll go out with you. But on one condition.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“You promise to spend time with your family, too.”
“Done.” He came toward her. “Shake on it?”
She eyed his hand with suspicion before reaching out. He snatched it, yanking her to him, and kissed her. In the instant their mouths met, electric desire blindsided his original intention to be playful, to catch her off guard. But she caught him off guard as she combed her fingers behind his head, arching into him. His need met hers, and he moaned, their tongues tangling.
Heat speared upward, ignited by the taste of her, the urgency in her kiss. Then her mouth softened, slowed, and he slid his hand from her hip, over her round butt and up her back, the ends of her long hair tickling his forearm. A woman so feminine and sweet, she struck possessiveness in him he didn’t know he had. As if she was made for him exclusively. Perfectly curved and scented just right to make him forget all others.
He fastened his mouth on her neck, and pushed her to the wall. Wanting to feast on more, he stretched the collar of her sweater to expose her shoulder, moving to sample her there. Smooth, silky, sweet skin. He licked with a gentle bite. When she fisted her hand in his hair to drag his mouth back to hers, he went in rough, greedily. His hand skimmed down her arm, moving to grasp her hip, digging his fingers in. He pushed against her; he was hard, and he wanted her to know it. Swirling his tongue over hers, hearing her moan, he barely registered the shrill ringing cutting through the quiet room.
The phone. She broke the kiss, pushing him back, blinking as if coming to her senses. Mason straightened, out of breath, keeping his eyes locked with hers while the phone rang. Raking a hand through his hair, he stepped away, giving her space. Greta righted her sweater, cleared her throat and walked over to the phone. She picked it up, answering the call a little winded. “Hi, Ben…yes. Spaghetti would be great. I’m—famished.”
Whoa. Saved by the butler. Now would be a good time to go. Or else he’d want more from her, and didn’t want to push his luck. Mason opened the door to leave and she covered up the receiver with her hand. “Mason…”
He shook his head with a smile then pointed to her, finding his hand shaking. “The next time we kiss,” he uttered, his voice rasp, “it’ll be because you came to me.” With that, he gave her a wink and walked out the door.
Chapter Seven
“Come on out, Mason,” Greta called, exchanging amused glances with his sister while they waited for him to emerge from the dressing room.
“I feel ridiculous,” Mason complained.
Greta sighed. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Stop acting like a child, big brother. What you feel is irrelevant in this case.” She winked at Greta.
“These tights aren’t rational,” he declared. “I could easily wear real, modern pants and the children wouldn’t notice the difference.”
“Man up and wear the costume as it’s meant to be,” Sophie demanded. “Or else I’ll make you read to the entire Wanderheim brood by yourself.”
“You’re kidding, right? You said there are five of them!”
“Do I sound like I’m kidding?”
The trio was in a powder room near the executive offices of the hotel. Mason kicked the dressing room door open, scowling. Greta bit back a laugh, pressing her lips together. Not because of how the outfit looked on him, but the child-like displeasure on his face. When Sophie mentioned “costumes” she didn’t mean cheap off-the-rack knockoffs. These were fit for a play. The hotel definitely took their holiday bedtime service seriously and expected their volunteers to dress the part.
Greta had been outfitted in a traditional ivory-colored Victorian scoop-neck dress with puffy sleeves, a pointed waist and hoop skirt. Using a curling iron Sophie provided, she had twined her hair into tight ringlets, tied on a bonnet, and donned pink flats. How fun it could be to dress up from another time.
Too bad Mason wasn’t getting into the spirit.
He’d been given the standard clothing for a man from the same era: a black top hat, white long-sleeved shirt with a dark silk tie around the neck to keep the collar raised, a brocade vest, a formal cutaway coat with tails and—his favorite—straight, snug trousers in a neutral shade.
Though, he did have a right to feel a little self-conscious…the trousers showed off every sinew of muscle in his strong legs. For heaven’s sake, she had no idea he was so muscular. Then again, she did have some knowledge of his physique, remembering how his muscles had pressed into her last night. When she lifted her gaze up to his, his mouth twisted with a smile, as if he could read her thoughts. “I’m beginning to think it’s not so bad.”
Sophie held out her hands, missing their exchange. “See? I think you look fantastic. Once you put the shoes on, you’ll feel a lot more…masculine.”
Greta gave a dry laugh. “I don’t think he’s in any danger of losing his masculinity.”
He took a seat on a vanity bench and grabbed one of the boots. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Well, I think this is a brilliant idea,” Greta commented, picking up the faux fur muff. “The Victorian age was so romantic. They were practical and stylish at the same time. Take this muff. It keeps my hands warm without having to stuff them in coat pockets. I should buy one. I can’t believe I don’t own one already.”
Sophie’s iPhone went off and moments later it seemed she had a proverbial fire to put out. “Argh. I have to go. Here are the names and room numbers you’ve been assigned to. The Beckers, the Allermans, and the O’Reilly children. Even though I should punish you for whining, I’ll give the Wanderheim children to my vet storytellers.” She winked and handed Greta a list. “Either the nannies or the parents will be there to let you in.”
“All we have to do is tuck them in, read a story and say good night?” Greta asked.
“That’s it. Don’t worry if they don’t fall asleep, that’s the nanny’s job when they get back. Read the stories, keep the Christmas spirit, and try—” She gave Mason a pointed gaze. “—to stay in character.”
“What does that mean? Should I use an accent?” Mason asked, mocking the second question with a cockney lilt.
“You know exactly what I mean. No telling them Santa Claus is a commercial entity, or that reindeer don’t fly, that candy rots your teeth, or that they should ask for encyclopedias for presents.”
Greta moved her gaze back and forth between the pair. “Why does this sound personal?”
The siblings nodded shortly at each other, both saying, “Grandpa Renclair.”
Greta laughed. “Jinx.”
Sophie’s phone went off again. “Argh! I’m coming. Hold your friggin’ horses.”
Silence settled after she left, a sensual energy curling through the air. Mason fixed his gaze on Greta, but she didn’t know what to say. Especially since their kiss last night had shaken her world. Despite the fact she wanted to avoided short-term affairs, she’d given in to Mason. What was the harm in having one more before she settled down? His kisses alone proved it would be worth it.
She made a show of turning to a mirror to straighten her bonnet. Though she’d agreed to go out with him—and had responded to his kiss last night with such ardor—she wanted to keep some space between them. Things could heat up so fast once they started. When it came to men, she preferred to set the pace at her comfort level, so messy emotions wouldn’t get in the way, and attachment could coyly be avoided. Feelings had a tendency to curtail plans, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted from them.
Mason rose and sauntered up behind her. She caught his eyes in the mirror. “So…what’s the plan?” she asked in a light tone, as if her heart wasn’t fluttering at his nearness. “You’re probably a much better storyteller than I am. Can you do voices? I’ll speak the girl lines and you do the boys. Do you want to read the story together or…?” Rambling. So unsexy.
His hands came at her waist, strong and warm, turning her around. “Before we go, I want to know if I can see you tonight.”
The closeness of him, his hot hands, upset her balance. “You’re seeing me right now.”
Wrapped Up in a Beau Page 6