Wrapped Up in a Beau (15 page)

“You mean you weren't sleeping in that?”

Pursing her lips, she crossed her arms. “You know what I sleep in.”

She had been naked. Man, he was good. After taking off his shoes, he straightened, eager to clear the air. “About this afternoon—”

“We don't have to discuss it,” she rushed in.

“On the contrary, I think it's necessary. To get a few things straight.”

Defensiveness crossed her features, and a bit of color stained her cheeks. She didn't want to talk about their little tiff, and frankly neither did he, but he was not the kind of man to dismiss disagreements, no matter how minor. “First, I want you to know I don't need or want
variety.
I have no intention of asking Shannon or any woman out on a date. She's a friend. You shouldn't interpret what
she
wants; you should keep in mind what I want. That's you. I don't know what kind of guys you're used to, but I don't play that game. While I can't claim to be the most honorable man on the planet, jumping from one woman to another isn't my style and never will be. You're the only one I want to spend time with.” He cleared his throat, hoping she wouldn't shut him out. “That being said, if you want me to back off and give you space, I will.” Watching her, he softly asked, “Do you want me to go, Greta?”

She waited a few moments, and his insides squeezed uncomfortably tight waiting for her reply.

“No,” she finally spoke. “I don't need space. There will be plenty of that when I leave.”

A great relief washed over him. “Good. And I want to apologize about what I said. That I was skeptical you wouldn't leave without saying good-bye. I didn't mean it.” He combed his fingers through his hair, shifting his gaze down. “The thought you'd disappear and I'd never get the chance to see you off—”

“I was jealous,” she blurted.

He raised his gaze slowly, unsure if he'd heard her correctly. “What?”

She shrugged, as if she didn't care about the consequences of her admission, folding her hands in front of her with a prideful air. “You were right. I was jealous about Shannon. I thought if I—pushed you into her arms, it would show I didn't care.” She let out a breath, hung her head. After a moment, she raised it, shrugging, “But I do care. I want you all to myself. While I'm here.”

Well, I'll be damned.
Probably a first for Greta. He'd only been teasing her about being jealous, but now that he knew, it pleased him to hear it for some reason. “I'm all yours, Greta, and you're all mine, for another five days. By the way, you couldn't push me into Shannon's arms if you used a snowplow. I'm glad we're on the same page.” He smiled, plucked off his leather gloves and removed his jacket, ready to move on to less talking, more touching.

As she turned around to switch on her radio, he sauntered up behind her, snatched her hand and spun her around. Eyes wide, she grinned as she crashed into him. Was she taken aback at his urgency? He'd gone through an entire afternoon and most of the evening without her in his arms. Yeah, enough of that.

He kissed her long, snaking his hands around the small of her back. Taking in her light scent, he inhaled deep…she smelled so good. The kind of scent one had to get close to notice—a subtle, unique and intoxicating scent he'd forever associate with Greta. He gave an involuntary moan when she broke away. He dipped to her neck, opening his mouth and tasting her soft skin with strong, hungry samplings. Moving his hands under her top, he sought to free her breasts from her lacy bra.

She let out a quick yelp and gasped. “Your hands are like ice.”

“Sorry.”

Her breathless laugh only fueled his desire. “You should warm up first.”

“I'm pretty hot already,” he told her in a daze, his voice raspy, licking his way up her throat.

“Well, unluckily for you, I like a man with warm body parts.”

With a groan of disapproval, he fought to rein in his lust, and resolve this issue quickly. He could make love to her frozen, but he understood cold hands weren't a huge turn-on. “I'll make a fire.”

She smiled, pleased. “I'll open the wine.”

As he got comfortable on the sofa while Greta retrieved the Shiraz, he thought he could get used to this. A sexy woman, a nice fire on a cold night and vintage vino on the way. What more could a man want?

Smiling down at him, she poured him a glass and he accepted it. “Thanks.”

Instead of joining him on the sofa, she sat on the floor leaning against it, and tucked her legs beneath her.

“There's plenty of room, you know,” he told her.

“You look so comfy stretched out. I'm fine down here.” She rested her elbow on the edge of the couch, leaning her head in her hand, her wine in the other. The firelight behind her gave her an angelic glow, highlighting the loose strands from the messy pile of hair atop her head. No make-up. No jewelry. No elaborate hairdo.

Mason smiled, fingered a tendril of hair between his fingers. “You're beautiful, you know that?”

Her eyes twinkled as she took a sip of wine. “It's the lighting.”

He chuckled, skimming his fingers under her chin. “It's you.” Normally, he wasn't this affectionate or romantic. He usually kept his admiration to himself, preferring to show his appreciation in the bedroom. With Greta however, he didn't want to keep much hidden. Maybe because he enjoyed openly flattering her whenever he could. Making her smile felt like a reward.

They made light chitchat, talking about everything from wine vineyards to small-town politics, and had a lighthearted debate of ice cream versus frozen yogurt. It was easy to talk to Greta; she made him laugh, intrigued him with her life experience, and most of all, made him feel like he could be himself and relax. She didn't need to be charmed or impressed every second of every hour like some.

“What would you like to do tomorrow?” he asked after a silence settled. The fire had died in the hearth. How long had they been talking? “I'm going to the office for a couple hours, but I'm open for lunch and beyond.”

She perked up. “Oh! I almost forgot. I need a ride in the afternoon.”

“Where to?”

“The rec center. The one by the junior high? Sophie said you would know. I'm volunteering for the Sandwich Club.”

“No kidding. My mom helped organize the committee a while back. I think she's moved on to new projects, though.”

“I'm not surprised your mom had a hand in it. She's busier than the Queen of England. Anyway, Sophie volunteered my time. They need another adult to watch over the kids while they play. Join me?”

“I'll pass, but I'll definitely be your reliable chauffer to and from.”

She gave the cutest, sexiest pout. “You won't come play with me?”

Now that could change a man's mind but he did have a short list of things to take care of. “I'll play with you tomorrow night, I promise.”

“Fine,” she relented, giving up easily. “I have an agenda anyway, and you'll just be in the way.”

“Oh really?” he half-laughed. “Do I want to know about this little agenda?” He started to smile as she got up, slinking herself into his lap, running her hands up his chest.

“I think you'll be interested in something else now,” she purred, bending over as her breasts brushed his pecs. His breathing changed as she raked her fingers in his hair. Instantly drunk on her sudden seduction, he slid his hands up her silky pajamas, and stuck his hands inside the hem, caressing her smooth, panty-free bottom. His shaft stiffened, bulging.

Kissing him, Greta smoothed her palm down the length of him, simultaneously dancing her tongue with his. “You're good and warm now,” she whispered.

“Oh I'm warm. And I'm pretty good.”

Her husky laugh changed to a gasp as he suddenly flipped her to her back and shoved her top over her breasts. Hungrily, he licked her lace-covered nipple, and she arched, moaning, trembling. Her uninhibited response aroused him deeply, the incredible rush of lust racing through his veins, starved for her. His fingers moved down her stomach, inside the waistline of her pants, and farther until he felt her slick center. God, she was so wet already. An involuntary tremor coursed through him as he strummed his finger between the delicate folds. Her breath quickened, fingers clenching. Tugging the lace of her bra over with his other hand, he caught the peak in his teeth gently, circling his tongue around before capturing the nipple with a tug. “Yes…” she approved with undisguised need.

Mason sunk into her, pressing his body between her legs. He was addicted to every taste he could get, each sound of pleasure she made, every tremble. He sat up, caught her wrists and pulled her off the couch. He took her hand in his, kissed it then led her upstairs.

As they climbed, he heard her sigh. “What's wrong?”

“It's tomorrow already,” she drawled, seeming a little tipsy from the wine. “Time is going too fast.”

She looked completely, wonderfully tousled from their brief foreplay on the sofa. He squeezed her hand, in complete agreement. “I'll be sure to go slow tonight.”

Chapter Fourteen

Greta warmed her hands on the to-go coffee mug as Mason drove her to the rec center. They'd stopped by Galore to visit with Leo's daughter and son-in-law, who were happy to tell her Leo would be coming home that day. She couldn't wait to see her favorite Italian on his feet and back in the shop, which his daughter assumed would be as soon as the doctor signed the release papers. He hardly had to worry about the state of his business, however. It was in impeccable shape and his daughter made a mean cappuccino. Even though it was almost two o'clock in the afternoon, Greta needed the extra boost of caffeine.

Mason kept her up late last night. A shiver ran through her, recalling how he took her body and soul to new heights, until the early hours before dawn. It'd taken serious effort to peel herself out of bed this morning. Mason had left promptly at eight, showered and spent a couple hours at the company before returning. She'd barely gotten one eye open with a cup of coffee when he'd bounded in, fresh and handsome, teasing her about sleeping in all day. Where did the man find the energy? Perhaps snaring only a few hours of precious sleep was nothing to him, but she was worn out. A wonderful kind of worn out, but still. The man was insatiable, she thought as she hid her smile by taking a sip of cappuccino.

“Are you sure you're up for this?” Mason asked, interrupting her thoughts of his sexual prowess.

“I hope so,” she joked. Sophie had loaned her a pair of running shoes, which Greta wore with jeans and a faded 1998 Swan's Crossing Winter Festival sweatshirt. Not the most flattering ensemble, but who cared about being
dans le style
when playing with children? Even with her wool hat and gloves, she was cold to the bone. The temperature hadn't risen above ten degrees yet. Hopefully running around with a bunch of energetic kiddies would warm her up fast.

“What are your plans for the next two hours?” she asked Mason.

“I have a few errands to run. To the bank. Post office. Nothing exciting.” He made a turn into the rec center parking lot. He shifted the car into park and smiled. “Have fun.”

With a light laugh, she leaned over and kissed him. “Thanks for the lift.”

As she started to climb out, Sophie's crush emerged from the door, grinning with a wave.

“Who's that?” Mason asked, brows furrowing.

“Dr. Kessman. He's one of the volunteers.”

“Yeah? How do you know him?”

“I don't. I met him yesterday at the hotel. He and Sophie are friends.”

Mason regarded the smiling doctor with a slight frown. Did he have something against a man he didn't even know? That made no sense. “He's the only one I know here, so he said he'd show me the ropes. You've never met him?”

“It's not that small of a town,” he remarked on a dry note.

“Oh. Well, he's very nice. Your sister had nothing but great things to say about him,” she added then slid out of her seat. “See you later.”

She shut the door and walked toward the entrance. Blake was wearing a hoodie and basketball pants, appearing even younger than he had the day before. She'd always thought doctors of a serious nature and mannerisms, but this one blew that stereotype. “Hey Greta.”

“Hi again,” she greeted with a warm smile.

“Come on in.” He held the door wide open, and she could hear distinct squeals and laughter of children inside. “You're right on time. We're about to start a game of dodgeball.”

“Goodness. I haven't played that since
I
was in school.”

“I'm afraid that means we won't go easy on you.”

She laughed. “Now I'm scared!”

He pointed two fingers to her eyes, feigning a businesslike expression. “Don't let them see the fear, Greta.”

She laughed again, tucking her purse behind a desk. Blake released the door, and a second later it swung open with a whoosh of cold air blasting through the entry. Mason walked in. “I'd like to volunteer, too. If that's all right with you of course.” Turning to Blake, he held out his hand, with an expression that dared the man to disapprove. “How's it going? Mason Renclair.”

They shook hands. The doctor seemed a bit confused. “Uh. Welcome. Blake Kessman. You're Sophie's brother, right?”

Mason nodded sharply like a general.

Blake's smile was genuine. “Good to meet you. Your sister has talked about her family quite a bit. She's a great gal.”

“Oh?” Mason cast his gaze around as though casing the place, completely oblivious to Blake's comment on his sister.

Greta eyed Mason with slight suspicion. What brought this sudden change of heart? She glanced between the two men. Then it hit her. Mason had witnessed the attractive pediatrician greet Greta and had gone full caveman on her. She almost laughed out loud. “Are you sure it's okay Mason tags along last minute, Dr. Kessman?”

Blake shrugged with a short nod. “More hands on deck the better. Besides, he's Sophie's brother. I'll give you guys the grand tour. You can tell this is where everyone throws their backpacks and coats. Try not to trip on anything,” he advised with a chuckle. Through the double doors, he turned right and led them to the playroom. A gang of elementary-aged kids crashed into his legs, clinging to him and asking questions all at once.

While Blake was distracted, Greta linked her arm in Mason's. “Spill. What changed your mind?”

“You didn't tell me you were going to play with some young stud.”

She grinned. “I knew it. You're jealous?”

“You're damn right,” he admitted easily, sliding her a glance. “I saw the way he smiled at you. Then he made you laugh before you even walked in the door. I know competition when I see it.”

“Well, check your jealousy, Mr. Renclair, because the doctor is only being friendly.”

“Right. Well, I'm here to make sure. You wanted me to do this with you anyway.”

“True, but not because you have some thwarted territorial thing going on,” she teased. “I have zero interest in the doctor and vice versa. He's got his eye on someone else close to you.”

Taking off his jacket and hanging it over a chair, he looked over at her in question. “Who?”

Men could be so dense. “Oh come on, Mason, think about it for two seconds.”

As he regarded the dark blond with the medical-school hoodie, he mumbled, “Sophie? No kidding.” He gave the doctor a thorough once-over as if seeing him in a new view. “Not her type. She'll turn him down.”

“Shows how much you know. He's
exactly
her type. You should've seen the two of them interact yesterday. It was adorable. She was actually blushing.”

“Sophie blushed?” he asked skeptically.

“My thoughts exactly! He's special. That's why I'm here,” she whispered, leaning in. “To sort of play matchmaker for her.”

“She asked you to do that?”

“Of course she didn't, but I know for a fact he likes her, too. They just need a little push from
moi
,” she declared, wiggling her fingers.

“I see.” After a moment, he raised a brow and crossed his strong arms. “Good luck with that. Now that I know why you're really here, I can go.”

She caught his bicep as he playfully turned. “Don't even think about it, Renclair. You're committed now.”

His mouth curved wryly. “I knew you'd say that.”

“And don't blurt out anything you know will embarrass your sister. This is a top-secret mission.”

“If he's not man enough to ask her out on a date, he's not good enough for her.”

She set her hands on her hips. “Not everyone is as brazen and aggressive as you are.”

Taking the statement as a compliment, he lifted a corner of his mouth. “You thought I was brazen and aggressive?”

“You wouldn't take no for an answer.” She shrugged matter-of-factly.

“That's because I knew you wanted me as much as I wanted you,” he pointed out.

“Well, I don't think Dr. Kessman is all that certain the interest is mutual. He doesn't follow her around town, corner her into submission and flirt shamelessly in front of her friends and family.”

He quirked his head thoughtfully. “Is that how I won you over? I thought it was the first kiss that finally convinced you.”

She lowered her lashes, a slow, knowing smile spread across her lips.

Blake gestured them to another room, seeming to have pleased the little crowd of admirers, now able to make an escape.

The room next door was where the arts and crafts took place, set with picnic tables, bean bags and a CD player. The bubbly Mrs. Carlton seemed to be the appointed supervisor for this room by herself, and by the contentment of the children, the lady clearly knew what she was doing. Down the hall was the gymnasium, where the majority of the boys were, bouncing basketballs and running back and forth playing tag.

Blake introduced them to the other two chaperones in the gym, the portly Mr. Jessup, who loved to use his whistle to get the children's attention, and Mrs. Freisling, a soft-spoken retired schoolteacher with black hair down to her waist who was the epitome of the gentle moderator.

“Don't let her fool you,” Blake muttered from the corner of his mouth, bumping Greta with his elbow. “She owns a Harley-Davidson and has perfected the stern look that will whip any kid into good behavior.”

Mason meanwhile caught the eye of a few boys who automatically assumed a man who walked around with a confident air was worth talking to.

“What did you play in school?” a small boy with a mop of blond curls, maybe eight years old, asked Mason.

“Track.”

“What's track?”

“Running. As fast as you can in circles.”

“Huh?” The boy's young voice broke. “I do that all the time. Watch!” And he proceeded to bolt around the space in a full-on sprint as fast as his little legs would go. Mason slowly started to smile as he tracked the boy's progress. Once the child came back, barely breathless and with a proud smile on his face, he asked, “How fast was that? Did you time me?”

“Super fast. I lost count,” Mason exclaimed.

Another boy, maybe the same age or a little older than this one, with a Mohawk-style haircut, bounded up to him. “Wanna race?”

“Not today, boys. I didn't bring my gym shoes.”

The blond boy slumped his shoulders with a disappointed whine and the Mohawk kid made a face.

Mason bent over, hands on knees. “Tell you what. I'll come back when the snow melts and we'll have an honest race outside. Deal?”

“Deal!” they exclaimed.

A tug on Greta's hand. She looked down to the girl with long red hair and smiled. “Hello there.”

“What's your name?” the freckle-faced girl asked.

“Greta. What's yours?”

“Beth!”

“Nice to meet you, Beth.”

“You have long hair like mine. Can I brush it? I have a brush. We could play beauty school. You, me and my friends.”

“Maybe later. For now, I have to keep an eye in here for a little while.”

Satisfied with the answer, Beth nodded and pulled out a red marker from her pocket. “Okay. This totally smells like strawberries! Wanna smell it?”

Obeying, Greta bent over and took a little sniff. “It sure does.”

As she straightened, Beth grabbed her hand and began to doodle on it before Greta could protest. Not that she would deny the cute little girl. Beth took her time doodling a heart and filling it in. “Now you're part of the red hearts club. Like me, Katie, Willow and Sabrina.” Finishing her handmade stamp, she held up her right hand to showcase the identical artwork.

“How sweet. Thank you for letting me join the club, Beth.”

The youngster replaced the cap on her marker. “If the boys get on your nerves, let one of us know. We red hearts stick together.”

A little leader in the making no doubt. Beth skipped over to the trio she'd referred to and the four of them jumped up and down, laughing about something. Greta missed having a group of tight girlfriends. They were scattered around the globe, in their own worlds, with separate lives. She longed to have girlfriends in the same city to run to and share things with.

Another item to add to her list when she flew back. Easier said than done, she knew. While school and small-town living made it easier to make friendships, it wasn't as effortless as an adult, she'd learned.

Over by the basketball hoop, she spotted Mason as he approached a little girl desperately trying to dribble a basketball. Her being no older than six or seven she didn't have the power to make it bounce. Greta couldn't hear what he was saying when he crouched down to talk to her, but seconds later she trusted him enough to hoist her on his shoulders. Seeming to follow his instruction, she dropped the basketball, and he hit it high enough to reach her little hand, so she could bounce it back. Her childish squeals echoed over and over. Greta turned away with a growing smile. What a cute, attentive father he'd make one day. Some lucky woman would eventually win him over and she had no doubt he'd be a good family man and husband.

A ball formed in her chest suddenly. Ugh! Why even think about things like that? She swallowed the knot in her throat and mentally kicked herself. Even though the connection to Mason was strong, she had no idea what he'd be like in a committed relationship, let alone as a dad or husband. Maybe spending so much time in this tight-knit community really brought out her desire to make a life, a home. A family.

Greta took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Scary thing in a way, to know one was ready to make a serious change.

“Okay,” Blake yelled over the squeals and shouts, then clapped his hands. “Who wants to play dodgeball?”

Shouts of “me!” and “I do!” echoed through the gym.

“Renclair, would you mind being the ref?” Blake directed, and Mason gave an affirming nod before sauntering to the other side of the gym. The doctor pointed to Greta. “Are you game?”