RAZZLE DAZZLE

by Lisa Hendrix

And as if to remind her that it really was a game to him, as they neared the house Mason shifted his gear all to one hand and reached out to Raine. “In case anybody’s watching.”

  Always conscious of the show. With a sigh, she put her hand in his and plastered a smile across her lips.

  He showed her to a second-floor guest room where she could shower and change—a suite, actually, which was roughly twice as large as her whole house and which made her want to move in for the duration. She sat on the foot of the king-sized bed and bounced a couple of times, then sighed. Her back could stand a few nights on a mattress like that.

  Ah, well. Like the man said, time for the dog and pony show, complete with an attempt to introduce Mr. Love-Has-a-Bottom-Line to the basics of Chinese geomancy. Raine kicked off her tennis shoes and headed for the shower.

  *

  “I grew up in northern Minnesota,” Raine said in answer to one of Miranda’s questions. “Bemidji, ‘The Home of Paul Bunyan.’”

  Tish pulled off a tiny piece of her dinner roll and buttered it. “I’ve always thought Minnesota sounded so cold.”

  “It is. That’s why I didn’t go back after I graduated from McKenna.”

  “McKenna?” repeated Mason, unable to hide his surprise. “As in Claremont? You’re kidding.”

  Raine could barely repress a chuckle. She loved dropping the name of her alma mater into conversation like that: it so defied people’s expectations. It was by far the best use she’d ever gotten from her degree. She looked at Mason with all innocence. “Actually, no. I have the little piece of paper and everything.”

  He looked flustered. “I’m sorry. I just—”

  “What on earth is a Claremont grad doing mowing lawns for a living?” Miranda blurted.

  “Miranda,” said Tish sharply. “And you, too, Mason. I’m sorry, Miss Hobart, I thought I had raised my children better.”

  “Oh, it’s all right,” Raine said. “I get that reaction a lot. Especially from my parents.” She stopped to blot a bit of vinaigrette away from the corner of her mouth, leaving a tiny smudge of plum lipstick on the linen napkin. “And to answer your question, Miranda, I worked in L.A. for a while after I graduated, but I discovered I really wasn’t cut out for the corporate world. Too much kissing up, too much hype.” Especially from one particular young executive. “I don’t know why I ever thought head-hunting was my forte. Anyway, one weekend, I came up this way to visit a friend and I just fell in love with Seattle. I never went back.”

  “It’s so difficult to find one’s feet in a new city,” said Tish. “Surely you’ll find a permanent job soon.”

  “This is my permanent job. I’ve been with Johnson’s for nearly three years. I like the seasonal work because it gives me plenty of time for my other work.”

  “Oh? I didn’t realize you had your own business,” said Miranda.

  “I have two, actually,” said Raine. Okay, here was her opening. She’d have to choose her words carefully, or his mind was likely to snap shut. “For one, I help people arrange their homes and gardens—and businesses—to make them more pleasant and productive.”

  “Oh, are you one of those people who go in and organize closets and drawers?” asked Tish.

  “No,” said Raine. A quick smile of amusement curved her lips, and she relaxed a bit, though she kept a watch on Mason out of the corner of her eye. “I like to think of myself as more of an … energy consultant. I use an Eastern approach to analyze how ch’i, or energy, ebbs and flows in a given space. Then I can help the residents compensate for any problems by correcting the placement of furniture and adjusting for poor architectural features. I’ve had some amazing results, even with things like health problems.”

  As she spoke, the lines of Mason’s jaw drew tighter and tighter. Carefully chosen words or not, this wasn’t sitting well with Mason. Where did all those prejudices of his come from?

  “You know, Miranda and I do the same thing, in a way,” said Tish. “We’re witches.”

  Mason smacked his water glass down so hard that the table shook. “Not at dinner, please.”

  “Oh, don’t mind him,” Tish said lightly, waving one beringed hand toward her eldest. “Mason doesn’t like to admit to even the merest possibility that there are energies he doesn’t understand. I don’t know how I raised such a closed-minded son.”

  “I’m not closed-minded,” Mason said, barely maintaining a civil tone of voice. Above his brilliant white shirt collar, his face darkened to match his crimson tie. “In fact, I’m quite open to rational discourse. If you can ever produce any hard evidence of any of this”—he caught himself and modified whatever he’d been going to say—“stuff working, I will be happy to discuss it with you. In the meantime, I’d appreciate a change of subject.”

  Tish and Miranda looked at each other and shrugged in an unconcerned way, but Raine felt the anger radiating off Mason.

  Then, like a drop of water flashing to steam in a hot skillet, it was gone. The color faded from his face. Wearing a look of chagrin, Mason reached out and gently covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. This is an ongoing issue with my mother and me. I’m afraid it brings on strong emotions.”

  Still the game. Reminding herself that, as far as his family was concerned, she had no idea what was really going on, Raine pulled herself back into character.

  “I understand,” she said, turning her hand to curl her fingers into his. Still, she couldn’t resist a delicate jab. “My mother always says strong emotions are the sign of a loving family.” She presented him with a beatific smile that brought a slight tightening of his fingers around hers. He wasn’t going to concede the point.

  The butler came in just then, and small talk reigned at the Alexander table for as long as it took him to clear the salad plates and serve the braised lamb and French green beans.

  As soon as he disappeared, Miranda jumped back in. “You mentioned you have a couple of businesses. What else do you do?”

  Raine smiled pleasantly, despite her feeling that dinner was turning into a cross-examination. “I spend most of the winter in my landlady’s garage with a cutting torch and a welder.”

  “Are you a plumber, dear?” asked Mrs. Alexander.

  “A sculptor, of sorts. I make garden art. You know, one-of-a-kind birdbaths and weather vanes, fountains, odd little figures to plant among the flowers, an occasional trellis, that sort of thing. I build them in the winter when Johnson’s is slow, and then in the summer, I haul everything to the garden stores and the street markets. In fact, I’ll have a stall at the Redmond farmers’ market on Saturday and another at the Fremont market on Sunday.”

  “I’m looking for an unusual focal point for the rose garden,” said Miranda. “Maybe I’ll come see what you have.”

  Mason raised one eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t like crowds.”

  “I’ll go early,” said Miranda, avoiding her brother’s doubting gaze. “You’re certainly a busy woman, Miss Hobart. Landscaping. Sculpting. Sorting out energy flows. Do you have any other talents we should know about?”

  “That pretty well sums it up,” Raine said. “At least for now. Who knows what I’ll be doing next year.”

  Mason glanced at her, his eyes narrowed as though he disapproved of something she’d just said.

  “For that matter, who knows what I’ll be doing next month,” Raine continued, ignoring him. It was time to earn her money for the evening. “I mean, a week ago I never would have imagined that Mason and I…” She let her statement trail off in apparent embarrassment.

  Fortunately, Mason picked up his cue. The disapproval in his eyes changed to a glitter of warmth, undershot with mischief. He reached for her hand and pulled it to his mouth so he could press a kiss into the tender skin of her palm, hesitating there just long enough to swirl a hot, private circle with the tip of his tongue. “I’m so glad you came into my life.”

  A shiver of erotic pleasure ran up Raine’s arm. For a man who didn’t believe in love, Mas
on was sure good at faking it.

  She’d have to keep that in mind.

  *

  Six

  « ^ »

  It was a good thing this was just a temporary relationship, Mason reflected as he smiled into Raine’s eyes. All he needed was one more female in his life who was “into” something new every year. And did she really believe that nonsense about energy flows?

  Surely not. Of course, who knew what flaky theories those McKenna people were promoting these days.

  Claremont McKenna. Who would have guessed?

  Mason had assumed, when Raine had mentioned a psychology professor, that she’d been studying at some vocational school or junior college, or perhaps at best at a small state school. He certainly hadn’t expected her to claim a degree from a private school as fine—and as notoriously expensive—as Claremont McKenna.

  Of course, there had been her reaction to the Monet.

  Maybe she was from a better background than he thought. Perhaps she was broke because she’d been cut off by her parents when she didn’t meet their expectations. She had mentioned her parents didn’t approve of her doing yard work.

  And certainly her lack of direction was motive enough for any parent to cut her off.

  Who knows what I’ll be doing next year, she’d said. Mason cringed inwardly. Give him Caroline and her five-year plans any day.

  The rest of the evening progressed pleasantly enough, however, and tweaking his mother and sister wasn’t the half of it. There was a lot to be said for lovemaking, in the innocent, old-fashioned sense of the term: the looks, the familiar touches, the gentle words with private meanings. Mason had never been one for public displays of affection, but he quickly fell into the rhythm with Raine, tracing circles on her palm as they discussed the new Symphony Hall, or brushing a wisp of hair from her temple as he listened to her advise his mother on the best way to coax more blooms from a clematis. By the time they moved out to the terrace for marionberry sorbet, Raine’s cheeks wore a heated flush like a wash of the berry juice and Mason’s own nerve endings buzzed crazily. He hadn’t been so excited by next to nothing since his days at Lakeside Prep.

  He was still buzzing when Paul pulled the car into an empty spot down the block from Raine’s house.

  Time to give Paul a little show, just in case Miranda visited the garage again. Appreciating the excuse, Mason shifted so he was sitting closer to Raine.

  “What?” she asked.

  The car rocked gently as Paul got out. Mason slipped his arm around Raine and pulled her into his arms.

  “Oh,” she said. She looked up at him with a good imitation of breathless expectancy just as Paul pulled the door open, then she subtly adjusted the hem of her dress, as though it had been pushed a little higher by a roving hand.

  Mason was astonished. Lord, even he believed they’d been up to something. Perhaps they should have been.

  They sat there for a moment, like any couple who had been interrupted in a moment of near intimacy, and then Mason pulled himself together and climbed out of the car. Ignoring Paul’s practiced disinterest, he helped Raine out, retrieved the bag with her tennis clothes, then escorted her to her door.

  Again, he held the screen door while she unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. And again, she pulled the door mostly shut before he could see anything inside.

  “I haven’t had a chance to pick up,” she explained. “I, um, guess it’s time to give Mrs. P. her show.”

  He nodded, and lowered his head to kiss her. There was a moment’s stiffness, an instant of hesitation, and then her lips went all soft and welcoming. Mason pulled her into his arms. He’d been waiting all evening for this, like a high school kid on a date, anticipation building with each touch and promising look. He teased her mouth open with the tip of his tongue, kissing her until her arms tightened around his back. It was so heady that he clung to her much longer than necessary for any but the most convincing performance, and when she finally stepped back, breaking his hold, they both glanced away in embarrassment.

  “So,” Mason began, but his voice was husky and he had to clear his throat and try again. “So. Do you have any preferences for tomorrow evening?”

  She brushed a sweat-damp wisp of hair off her forehead. “Rumor on the grounds crew has it that you have a really wild pool.”

  “We do. Would you like to try it out?”

  “Absolutely. It’s supposed to get up over ninety tomorrow. I’d spend the whole day at the beach, if I could, but a swim after work is the next best thing.”

  “Then that’s settled. Swimming for two, followed by a dinner theater performance of the Alexander-Hobart Repertory Company.”

  “All right. My suit and I will be ready. ‘Bye.”

  “Good night.” He bent for one more quick kiss, handed over her bag, then headed for the car, pursued by images of Raine in a swimsuit. He’d bet it wasn’t one of those butt-covering, Esther Williams sarong things like Caroline wore, either.

  Whoa. Time to stop comparing Raine to Caroline, Mason told himself sternly. It wasn’t fair to either of them, particularly not to Raine, who was only occupying his thoughts so completely because of the nature of their arrangement.

  Then again, there wasn’t anything wrong with appreciating a nubile young woman in a bikini.

  Raine in a bikini. He smiled. Now there was a thought to warm the cockles of a man’s heart. As he reached the car, Paul gave him an odd look, and Mason realized he was whistling “The Girl from Ipanema.” His smile broadened, and he breathed the last word of the line, “Aaah. Paul, I am a very lucky man.”

  “Yes, sir, you are. Home?”

  “Home.”

  *

  It had all been for Mrs. Perlmutter, Raine reminded herself as she locked the door. It meant nothing, especially not to her employer, and it was foolish to enjoy it so much. Further self-chastisement was cut short by the shrill ring of the phone.

  “It’s me,” said Zoe when Raine picked up. “How did it go? Did you convert him?”

  “Sure. Easy as pie,” said Raine. She opened the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of orange juice. Shoot, almost empty. She put it back to save it for morning, and reached for the jug of ice water instead. “He’s eating out of my hand. He just rolled right over and let me scratch his stomach like a big ol’ hound dog.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  Raine snorted. “Let’s just say feng shui is a sore point right now and I didn’t even say the words. The only thing that saved me was his mother raising a subject that made him even madder.”

  “Like?”

  “Like that’s none of your business.”

  The line hissed over Zoe’s momentary silence. “Hey. Maybe you could rearrange a room in his house, so he could see how it works.”

  “Oh, that would go over well. ‘Good evening, Mrs. Alexander. Miranda. Excuse me, Mason, could you move that couch over by the wall, please?’ Besides, I would have to do all of the calculations to get things right. I don’t even know their birthdays, much less when the house was constructed.”

  “It was just an idea,” Zoe said. “We’ll think of something.”

  *

  “Here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten us into.”

  The old Laurel and Hardy line ran through Tish’s mind as she lifted the edge of the draperies and stared out over the drive. A fine mess, indeed.

  She was still standing there when the car finally wove its way down through the trees and still there when Mason’s lean figure stepped out and strode up to the front door. Behind her, the bedroom door opened and closed, and footsteps padded across the floor. Tish released the drapes and turned.

  “I see our wandering boy is home,” Miranda said, dropping onto one of the tufted silk chairs beside the window. “I was starting to wonder if he’d decided to stay at her house tonight.”

  “I thought you told me you didn’t believe they were really under the influence of the potion.”

  “Well, I thought ther
e was something fishy, but after tonight, I’m not sure. I’m not even sure it matters anymore. People who look at each other like that generally wind up naked and horizontal sooner or later.”

  Tish sighed. Her own thoughts had been running along the same lines. “You don’t suppose they have already…”

  Miranda shook her head. “Not unless Mason has the sexual habits of a weasel.”

  “Miranda! Don’t be crude.”

  “What I mean is, they haven’t really had enough time alone to do a good job of it. Unless they’re up to something in the car.”

  “Oh, surely not. Your brother has too much self-control to indulge in that sort of thing.”

  “Ordinarily, yes.”

  “He is behaving strangely, even allowing for the potion,” Tish said. “I can’t remember the last time I saw him fawning over a woman like that.”

  “And he barely even twitched when she brought up feng shui,” said Miranda.

  “Is that what she was talking about?” asked Tish. “She danced around it so, I wasn’t certain.”

  “She does seem to have a pretty good grasp of Mason’s touchy spots already, doesn’t she? Like a woman in love.” Miranda ran her fingernail along the rose piping that trimmed the chair. “You know, Kit Lester had some fellow in to do their place on Camano Island last spring. He switched all their furniture around and hung a chime and a mirror or two. Their decorator would die if he saw it, but she swears the whole house feels lighter and more positive. And she hasn’t had a migraine up there since. She says she used to get them practically every time they went up for a weekend.”

  “Really?” asked Tish. “Maybe we should ask Miss Hobart to look at the library. I’ve never been comfortable in there.”

  “Really? I always thought it was just me.”

  They got off onto a discussion of the library’s possible energy faults, and it was several minutes before they got back to the subject of Mason and Raine.

  “Well, the point I was making,” Miranda said, “was that he barely reacted to what she said. He’s always on us like a tiger on a mouse when we mention anything the least bit off the beaten path.”