Wrapped Up in a Beau (2 page)

A soft chuckle. “That's me.”

“Pleasure to meet you. Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you.”

“You've been friends with Sophie for a while.”

The mention of his sister drew a wide smile from her. “Yes. Five or six years now. She's come out twice to visit since she graduated and I thought it high time I made the trip.”

When he dropped her hand, he found his tingling. He made a quick fist to snuff it. “Where's home?”

She gave a light lift of her shoulders. “Wherever I am. I—don't really have one. I'm renting a flat outside London for now.”

He recalled his sister's descriptive title. “Citizen of the world.”

“If you like.” Her eyes sparkled like chocolate diamonds and she shifted her attention back to the enormous painting.

He cleared his throat, a strange nervousness humming in his blood, as if he'd never conversed with a beautiful woman before. Thinking of his next move, he decided to keep up with the small talk. Whatever it took to keep her attention. Dragging his attention back to the oil painting, he drawled, “I always thought this painting was a little dramatic for the library.”

“Dramatic? Maybe. But I like it a lot. Incites energy.”

“Really?” He cocked his head, pretending to study a piece he'd seen a thousand times.

“Oh, yes. It makes one feel like excitement is lurking around everywhere one goes. The man in the shadows and dark corners.”

“Isn't that what women fantasize about? A man who's a little dangerous?”

“Hmm. It can be fun when the timing is right. Sometimes dangerous men are the only ones who realize their life's worth.”

“You sound like you've known your share.”

“A few.” She sipped her wine. “Forgive me for being blunt, Mr. Renclair, but you seem to be that sort of man.”

He gave her a look of skepticism. “I live in a small town in New York State and manage my family's company. I can assure you, you're in no danger with me.”

“So said the wolf in sheep's clothing,” she remarked in a wry tone but with a twinkle in her eye.

He was perplexed, even though he couldn't help but smile. “You're afraid of me?”

“It's not fear, but I do sense something risqué about you. Nothing evil, necessarily.” When he laughed, she added, “I don't know why I'm sensing this. We just met. But it's there all the same.”

“I'm interested to know what brought this on.” Stepping back, he opened his arms and cast a look at his shoes and back. “Do I look like a man with bad intentions?”

After giving him a thorough once-over, she pursed her lips, but she affected a blasé shrug. “Perhaps it's the circumstances.” She swept a light hand out. “Here I am roaming around in a dark library, believing I sneaked away from the party unseen. Then you walk in as quiet as a fog.” She tipped her glass at him. “Wolf and prey.”

Chuckling, he shook his head and countered, “I view it as a woman who I've been tripping over myself to meet ever since I spotted her. I watched her slip away when she thought no one was looking and saw my opportunity.” He leaned in close, catching a whiff of her exotic perfume. “A wolf surely would've devoured you by now.”

Her soft laughter warmed the cool air around them.

She turned and started to walk back toward the door. Mason frowned, taken off guard by her abrupt exit. He was really enjoying their banter and could hardly let her go now. Quickly, he caught up. “Back to the wolf pack so soon? By now everyone will be inebriated enough to make fools of themselves. As a guest in our home, I feel obliged to watch over you. I'm certain you'll be the target of many shady intentions.” He put himself between her and the door, causing her to stop scant inches from his chest. “I suggest you have an escort. You know. For protection.”

Greta smiled at his proffered arm. “How chivalrous.” She linked her arm through his and they strolled down the hall. “But who is going to protect me from you?”

“You'll have to trust your instincts,” he advised, smiling down at her. “And you'll see dancing with the wolf in sheep's clothing is the safest decision you'll make all night.”

She tilted her head back and laughed.

When they ventured back to the party, it was louder and livelier than before. A few guests noted when they walked in together and Mason could practically hear their curious whispers above all the noise.

“Are you ready to start some gossip?” he asked, leading her to the dance floor.

“An innocent dance can stir gossip?”

“With this crowd? Guaranteed.” The gentleman in him kept her at a respectable distance, their bodies barely brushing against one another. Another less gentlemanly part of him demanded more.
Bring her close
. When he formed his hand firmly to her lower back, their bodies now aligned, she didn't stiffen as he expected. She melted into his contours as if made for him. Breasts to chest, hip to hip, they moved in sync with sensual grace. Images of how they'd move in bed had him distracted until she spoke again.

“You're right,” she said. “I feel eyes on my back. Who's the curly-haired blonde in the silver dress?”

He glanced over her head, scanning the women on the edges of the dance floor behind her. “Megan Albright.”

“I saw her earlier. If looks could kill, I'd be dead, no? Perhaps you should dance with her instead.”

No way. He'd danced with Megan many a time and even though she was attractive, her cold hands and superficial conversation always made him want to cut the dance short. She didn't hold a candle to Greta. “Trying to shake me already?”

She raised her brows with a haughty tone. “Just listening to my instincts.”

Unable to resist, he cocked his head, bringing his mouth closer to hers, hovering. “And they're saying?”

To his shock, she let their lips brush. “One more minute with you and I'll be burned at the stake,” she purred.

“Don't worry. You won't be in town long enough for it to happen.”

She pulled back, as though realizing how close they were getting to a kiss, and sobered, voice clear. “I never let gossip worry me. By the way, aren't you leaving for the Bahamas or somewhere soon?”

His trip. He'd nearly forgotten to watch the time. “Bali. My flight leaves tonight.”

“Sophie told me all about your winter tradition. Says you've been doing it for years. May I ask why you vacation on Christmas?”

“Why do
you
?”

She shrugged. “I can come and go as I please. I'm not married with children.”

“Neither am I.”

She seemed perturbed by this. “But you have a family. Most people like to spend the holidays at home with their relatives.”

“Business levels off this time of year and I can't take a summer vacation like most. Christmas happens to be the perfect time for some R&R. I won't get it if I stay here. Besides, my family isn't big on celebrating together and forced gatherings are never a good time.”

“Are you one of those Grinches who hate Christmas, Mason?” she teased.

“No. I've outgrown it, that's all. It's more for children.”

“I completely disagree! Don't you want to enjoy the magic of the season at home? There's no other time of year like it. The lights. The colors. The food. The music.”

“The crowds. The ice. The headaches. The debt.”

She rolled her pretty eyes. “I was wrong. You're more like Scrooge.”

He chuckled. At that moment, Murphy, a stout, cheeky fifty-something who managed the local credit union, waltzed up beside them with a friend's wife. “Greta, dear! You'll be missing out on some classic moves if you stay with Renclair. Promise me a dance later?”

“Promise made,” she smiled.

“Ms. Marcum!” They both turned their heads at the call of another's voice—Nigel, a retired dentist. “If you can promise Murphy a dance, you can promise
me
two!”

She winked at him. “Of course.”

Mason shook his head, amused. Not that he was surprised every other man in the room wanted his turn. “I see that before we met, you were cultivating a fan club.”

Her mouth quirked. “I've made a few friends.”

Gazing at her, he had the insane urge to kiss her. To claim her as his for the rest of the night. What had gotten into him? “I'm worried if I let you go, I'll never get you back,” he joked, but utterly meant it.

“I'll save a dance for you later.”

“And what if I don't want to wait that long?”

He reluctantly allowed her to step out of his arms, and before turning away, she smiled with a light in her eyes. “You will.”

Chapter Two

As Greta Marcum danced with Swan's Crossing's crème de la crème, now with Nigel for the second time, she did her best not to search the room for Mason Renclair. It'd been over an hour since they'd danced and she was still a little…giddy. She'd been warned—by his own sister—he possessed a swift, endearing charm that disarmed even the most jaded. Too bad he seemed somewhat jaded himself about Christmas.

With a secret smile, she understood now what Sophie meant. Even Greta—who thought she was immune to every style of flirtation—had been swept up in it. With those pure blue eyes, dark hair, irresistible smile and easy wit…the whole package definitely postmarked any warm-blooded woman to heartbreak city.

Good thing he'd be leaving or else she'd find herself in the beginning stages of a new infatuation. While Greta planned her trip, Sophie had explained everyone in the Renclair fold would be there, except for Mason. Instead of feeling obligated to spend Christmas with family like most prodigal sons did, he chose international travel. Sophie complained that no matter how much she wanted him to, he never changed his mind.

Well, it was for the best he wouldn't be there to make Greta's heartbeat scatter, her lungs breathless, knees weak. It'd been a very long time since any man caused such a physical reaction. Which was silly, since she met attractive men all the time, all over the world. What made this enigmatic man any different? Well, she'd never find out.

Her wandering gaze got caught in Mason's, and he nodded, simultaneously engaging in conversation with a guest. Rats. He knew she'd been searching for him.

She shifted her gaze, swallowing a smile.

Keep your wits, girl
. Her attraction came down to basic chemistry, merely drawn to him because he was a virile, good-looking male whose smile could melt mountaintops. On top of that, she hadn't been touched—as in caressed or held by a man intimately—in over a year, and his strong hands had revived her need while they were dancing.

Of course!

That was it. He oozed sexual appeal and she was merely starved for it. Mystery solved.

After spending the majority of her adult life moving from one new place to another, she'd met countless men like him. Rich. Attractive. Type A. Used to getting their way without much resistance, with their poetic smiles and practiced charisma. While it was unwise to invest in those types long-term, she always enjoyed their company for a brief time. Besides, Mason Renclair wasn't the only suave man in the room. Earlier, she'd danced with one of Sophie's friends, a handsome attorney named Tom. But she had to admit her attraction didn't go beyond surface appreciation for a well-dressed, impeccably mannered man. Nothing about him made her anxious in the most deliciously unexpected way.

When Mason broke from the group and started making his way toward her, she shook her head with a smile, tamping down her eagerness.

He clamped a hand on Nigel's shoulder. “Sorry, old man, time to move on.”

Greta kissed Nigel's cheek, and went into Mason's arms as if she'd done it much more than once. No one else held her the way he did. As his large hand snaked to her lower back, she sensed their mutual attraction could lead to the danger zone she'd spoken of in the library. Thank heavens he was leaving. “You're shameless, Mason. Cutting in like that.”

He angled his head with an irrepressible smile. “Thank you.” He wasted no time bringing her in, until every part of her was firmly against him, sharing heat. With his cheek brushing hers, she hoped he wouldn't notice her heart pounding like a drum.

Attempting to break the sexual tension—at least on her end it'd built to an alarming degree already—she asked, “Do you have any tips for my stay in Swan's Crossing? A few insider recommendations? I love to explore, but some advice from a local is always appreciated.”

“Tips? Not really. That's more Sophie's department. We're more of a small town than you think, so don't be surprised at the lack of adventure around here.”

“Population thirty thousand according to the welcome sign. Hardly small.”

“There aren't a lot of things to do, especially in the winter. It's hard to imagine anything here would be interesting to a world traveler like you.”

“I've been to more tiny villages than famous cities. You'd be amazed at what you can do in places much smaller than Swan's Crossing. And it doesn't take a lot to amuse me.”

“I would definitely be amazed if you found amusement in this town. But I guess I'm the wrong person to ask. I've been here all my life. Nothing is new to me.”

“All your life? There's something to be said about that.”

“That it's boring?”

Her smile was wistful, even though he couldn't see it. “It's enviable.”

He shifted to glance at her, but before he could ask questions she no doubt didn't want to answer, Sophie interrupted them, gaping.

She glanced from Greta to her brother. “Mason, it's nearly ten o'clock. Are you trying to set a new record?”

They stopped dancing and he slid his sleeve away from his wrist. “Ten?”

Sophie clapped her hands together and raised her eyes to the ceiling. “My first Christmas miracle. Mason staying for more than fifteen minutes at the party. Thank you, dear Lord. Keep them coming!”

Greta grinned. How she adored her friend. She could use more of that humor this Christmas. “Sophie, where have you been? I haven't seen you all night.”

“I'm sorry we haven't been able to spend any time together,” Sophie apologized, snatching up a flute of champagne from a passing server. “It's a party for everyone except me.”

“Don't be silly. We have plenty of time to catch up after tonight.”

Unfortunately, it seemed Mason's time had run out. He tucked his hands in his pockets. “I have to go. My red-eye departs in a few hours and it takes half that long to get to the airport.”

“Even less if you let Trent drive,” Sophie remarked, bumping Mason with her elbow. “Greta wouldn't let us pick her up at the airport. She insisted on renting a car.”

Greta shrugged. “I like to drive.”

“By the way, no two-wheels for you,” her friend turned to explain to Mason. “She asked if we had a bicycle for her to ride into town with. Isn't she a riot?”

Greta lifted her brows at their snickers. “A laugh at my expense? It costs nothing and it's good exercise.”

“There's no way you're riding a bike in the middle of winter,” Sophie declared.

Mason smiled, bemused at her idea. “I'm afraid my sister is right. It's almost ten miles to anything resembling a business from this neighborhood. Traveling by bicycle may be practical in Italy and England, but here it's an extreme sport. Especially in this weather.”

Greta feigned a bored sigh. “You're both terribly cautious, but I'll heed your advice. At least the Mustang I rented is fun to drive. The next best thing.”

“A sports car in freezing wind and rain.” Mason chuckled. “Feeding your sense of danger? You should've rented an SUV…or a snowmobile.”

“Again, thank you for your sage advice but I picked that hot rod for a reason. I'm on vacation after all. Aren't you supposed to be on your way?”

Sophie gave a small giggle and went to hug her brother. “You've made my Christmas by staying until the last minute. Have fun in Bali. I expect a phone call. Greta, I'll talk to you post-party. Drink more champagne!” She went to greet another guest.

“Well,” she said, reluctant to say good-bye to him, “
Vaya con Dios
, Mr. Renclair. Thank you for the dance. And for not exaggerating what Swan's Crossing has to offer.”

He caught her elbow as she turned. “Will you be here when I return? I'll be back New Year's Eve.”

“Unfortunately no,” she replied with genuine regret. “I leave on the 26th.”

Dropping her arm, he seemed truly disappointed. “That's too bad.”

She smiled softly. “Merry Christmas.” On impulse, she brushed her lips on his cheek, then, without meeting his gorgeous blue eyes again, walked away.

“Same to you,” she heard him say behind her.

Ever since Mason had climbed into the sedan to be driven to the airport, he'd had a smile on his face. He couldn't make it go away, no matter how hard he tried. As Trent carefully navigated the circular driveway, Mason caught a glimpse of the Mustang parked in front of the guesthouse. A
red
Mustang.

He shook his head, chuckling.

It wasn't until they pulled out of the neighborhood and onto the dark, traffic-free highway that Mason's smile began to fade.

He wanted to stay.

Honestly, the appeal of his trip to Bali had been diminishing every minute since he'd met Greta Marcum. His eagerness had dwindled considerably, and it shocked him he was even entertaining the idea of calling it off.

Ridiculous. Why would he do that? Because he met a beautiful woman he liked? Big whoop. He'd meet gorgeous, interesting women by the boatloads in Bali.

He settled in the leather and attempted to forget her, scrolling through emails on his phone.

He groaned in frustration five minutes later. Distracting himself wasn't working. Picturing Greta's alluring eyes, her lovely smile, how happy she made Sophie simply by being there.

What was wrong with him? This was his only vacation, his one selfish tradition, and he was going to stick to it.

She'd only be there until Christmas then she'd be gone. If he canceled, he'd be giving up two weeks in paradise to freeze with the rest of Swan's Crossing, bored out of his mind.

But…Greta Marcum would be there. Nothing boring about her whatsoever.

And suddenly, the thought of spending his time with her eclipsed everything about paradise. His friends would forgive him.

“Trent,” he called. “Turn around.”