Wrapped Up in a Beau (7 page)

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.”

“Out of these clothes.”

Her eyes went wide, and he chuckled. “As in, out of these and in our own clothes. Let's go out after this and share our life stories over some wine. Unless you have other plans?”

The invite sounded fun. And very intimate. “Where exactly would this take place?”

“There's a wine bar outside of town. It's a renovated old house with a great view. I think you'll like it.”

She nearly expelled a breath of relief, thinking he was going to say his place. “Oh. Yes, that would be fine.”

He stared at her mouth, and just when she thought he was going to kiss her—and this time she was ready for it—he pulled away. “Come on. Let's get this party started.”

He picked up the books and opened the door. His final words last night repeated in her head.

The next time we kiss it'll be because you came to me.

She bit her lower lip, enjoying the little power she held. Would he indeed not kiss her unless she kissed him first?

The passionate challenge excited her. She joined him at the elevator and hit the up button. “The Beckers are first on our list. Two boys and a girl. Brandon, Luke and Danielle. Bedtime is eight o'clock so we're right on time.”

“Sounds good.”

They stepped on the elevator and soared to the seventh floor. When he offered his arm, Greta smiled, and curled a hand around his hard bicep. Something about being on Mason's arm felt very right.

He slid a glance her way. “I know it'll be hard for you, but try not to stare at my fine legs when we're around the children.”

She laughed and jabbed him with her elbow. “I don't know how I'll control myself, sir.”

He winked at her. “Me either.”

When they arrived at the suite's door, the child-like screams, boyish yelling and pleading voice of the house nanny alerted them.

“Children are a lot like little soldiers, right?” Mason knocked. “Just need to show them who's boss and keep them in line.”

“Soldiers? When was the last time you were around small children, Mason?”

“Hmm. I did some time in elementary school.”

She giggled.

The door swung open, a harried young blonde on the other side, who breathed with relief. “You're here! They just finished their baths. It might take a minute to settle them down—” Another girlish scream sounded and the nanny cringed. “But they'll be good, I'm sure.”

“We'll see about that,” Mason teased as he walked in.

One of the boys was jumping up and down on an overstuffed chair, while the other scraped his toy car on the hardwood coffee table, making vroom noises. The little girl held onto her doll, turning around in a circle, singing the same line of a song over and over.

The nanny snapped her fingers. “Dani, come here, sweetheart. Brandon, get down! Check it out, Luke. They have your favorite book.”

The little girl, no more than six, ran straight to Mason and wrapped her arms around his leg. She raised her big brown eyes and beamed up at him. “You look like a prince!”

Mason appeared at a loss, which was a first for Greta to witness. Half-heartedly, he tried to pry her arm off his leg. “I, uh…I'm Mason.”

She sighed dreamily. “Prince Mason!”

Brandon jumped off the chair, landing on his feet, and asked, “Did you bring some candy?”

Greta chose to relay the bad news. “No candy, but we did bring a story to read! Wouldn't that be nice?”

Luke ran over to his brother, and whispered something in his ear. Brandon crossed his arms with a proud frown. “My brother thinks you're pretty, but
I
think stories are for babies. Candy!”

Mason sank to his haunches and Danielle released him, offering her doll. He chucked her under her chin, removed his hat in a gallant manner and smiled. “I couldn't agree more. What's a story without candy? Tell you what. If you're good and let us read to you, I'll see what I can do about it.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered loudly, jerking his head at the nanny, “Don't tell you-know-who.”

The nanny rolled her eyes, but smiled. She ushered the children into one of the suite's bedrooms.

Greta came up next to Mason. “You're a natural.”

“A natural bluffer. How bad is it I lied about giving them candy?”

“On a scale from one to ten? A nine with any child. But hopefully they'll be too tired to care.”

The children were set upon the king-size bed, and like magic, once they were under the covers, their energies settled. The nanny told them she was going downstairs for a quick bite to eat, and would be back within a half hour.

Mason and Greta pulled chairs close to the bed. Once the nanny left, Danielle climbed out of the bed and into Mason's lap. Greta silently dared him to tell the girl no. He didn't.

“All right, what are we reading tonight?” Mason started as he opened the giant book. “A good one.
How the Grinch Stole Christmas
.”

“My favorite!” Luke cried out.

Danielle sat in the crook of his arm, gripping her small hand on his lapel. He handed the book for Greta to hold, and cleared his throat, reading. “‘Every Who down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot, but the Grinch, who lived just north of Whoville - did not…'”

While Mason read the story, his smooth, baritone voice perfect for narration, Greta turned the pages. Luke lay on his side, head propped up by his hand, while Brandon sat up against the headboard, arms draped around his bent knees. They were enraptured by Mason's voice, enthusiasm, and how he made the appropriate faces at the Grinch's appalling behavior.

They weren't the only ones in awe.

Growing up, simple pleasures like stories before bedtime didn't happen for her. Her father often left her with the neighbor when he went on mysterious jobs for weeks on end. It didn't matter what time of year it was—her birthday, her first day of school, Christmas—Greta couldn't count on having a predictable childhood. She had no siblings, her mother had died when she was two and she never knew if her father would ever come back.

Perhaps therein lied the reason she separated herself emotionally when it came to Christmas. Sure, she took in the spirit, bought gifts, attended a midnight mass and listened to same songs on repeat…but she didn't allow herself to really immerse and enjoy it as others did.

She thought it was reserved for people with families.

For a moment, she let her imagination go, picturing the beautiful children as her own, Mason as her husband and the cozy room her home. How easy it was to fantasize about something she didn't have.

“Greta?”

She gave a start. “Yes?”

“The last page, please?”

“Oh! I'm sorry,” she whispered, noticing Danielle asleep in Mason's arms. Brandon and Luke's eyes were hooded, ready to sleep, but the boys were equally pleading, “Finish it. Finish it.”

Mason read the last page, Greta closed the book and the children didn't mention a word about the candy. He carried the little girl to the bed, placing her in between her older brothers. They left a small desk lamp on, and the doors cracked.

The nanny returned shortly after, thankful for the reprieve, and they were off to the next group.

“Are you all right? You seemed a little sad for a moment there,” Mason commented in the elevator.

Getting caught daydreaming embarrassed her. “Don't be silly. I'm fine.”

“You're not going to change your mind about later, are you? Because if you're too tired, and you'd rather go home…”

“Quite the opposite. I'm really looking forward to tonight.”
Alone is the last thing I want to be right now.

He smiled. “Me too.” A small stretch of silence and when doors parted, he remarked, “This is more fun than I thought it would be, by the way.”

“Oh? Maybe you just like wearing the tight pants.”

He took her hand, kissing her knuckles. “Maybe it's just you.”

Those four words woke the butterflies inside. If she weren't mindful, she'd let those words go to her head. Then her heart. And before Christmas Eve she would find herself falling for Mason Renclair.