Wrapped Up in a Beau (8 page)

The two Allerman children were half asleep by the time Mason began reading
The Night Before Christmas
. They insisted he sit between them. The boy wore Mason's top hat while his sister toyed with his silk tie. Greta wished she could take a picture to capture the adorable scene.

The last—twin girls—were the most inquisitive. They asked a lot of questions about
The Nutcracker
in between the storytelling. Like, why was the King of Mice so mean? Why did Clara's uncle wear a patch over his eye?

Mason improvised as best he could, and Greta filled in where he left off. Though questions answered led to more questions asked and eventually they laughingly admitted the O'Reilly girls were too smart for them to keep up. The girls seemed to think so too by their child-like frustration. But when Mason and Greta tucked them in and went to leave, one of the girls graciously invited them back next year to read to them again.

After changing into their regular clothes, Greta brushing the ringlets out of her hair, they took Mason's car to the wine bar he'd spoken of earlier. The 1800s-architecture home had been converted into a contemporary, yet appropriately rustic lounge. An exterior of stone walls and a rich cherry wood interior coupled with quaint furnishings and an inviting fireplace created an old European feel. There was a scattering of high-top tables and Christmas string lights tracing the trim.

A popular place, but they managed to find a table near the back. The server greeted them warmly and offered a heavy-bound menu list of appetizers, wine and specialty cocktails to choose from. Mason selected a red wine and ordered a dish of cheese and salamis to go with it.

The subdued ambiance, holiday jazz and low hum of the patrons blended for an intoxicating buzz. The man sitting in front of her added even more to the experience.

For a while, they made idle chitchat, sampling their cheeses and wine, watching sporadic flakes of snow fall outside. A pleasurable sense of relaxation came over her, and she welcomed the mellow atmosphere and lighthearted conversation. The perfect remedy to her previous melancholy. She was content to sit there, listening to music and gazing at the town lights twinkling beyond. Instead of directing more questions to Greta about her life, Mason had opened the discussion about his. Greta knew a lot about the Renclairs because of her many letters from Sophie, but there was so much more she never thought to ask.

When Greta asked how his family came to Swan's Crossing, he was happy to indulge her. “My grandfather Howard helped build this town. The hotel, for instance, was one of his first projects, then he started Renclair Development Incorporated. My mother has a lot of familial pride—rightfully so. She insisted on raising her family here, nowhere else would do. She met my dad in college and fell madly in love, so he followed her. My father claims he put up quite the stand to persuade her to settle in the South after they got engaged, but he failed. Grandpa Howard recognized how smart and capable my father was and promised him a bright future for sacrificing his dream to live in the South. He offered my dad a job in the business, since he never had a son of his own to pass it on to. It all worked out.”

“Quite nicely! Where do the Renclair men originally hail from?”

“Georgia. If my father would've had his way, I'd be speaking with a drawl and calling you sugar after every sentence.”

“What a shame you ultimately became a Yankee. I love Southern men.” She winked at him.

He chuckled. “What woman doesn't?”

Picking up a piece of cheese, she bit off half, the tangy morsel delicious on her tongue. “What about Grandpa Renclair? How did he come to live here?”

“He came after my grandmother passed away, when I was thirteen. He wanted to stay in their home in Savannah but he kept showing up to visit without notice and my parents knew the old man was lost without her. Despite his abrasive attitude, he doesn't like to be alone for long. He's crazy about my mom. She sort of reminds him of Grandma. And like her, she loves fussing over him. Guess with me and Sophie out of the house, she has someone who depends on her again.”

She set her chin on her palm. “I disagree it's a dependence. I think everyone needs to feel…well, needed by someone.”

“Especially women.”

Typical male. She rolled her eyes. “Oh come on! It's a two-way street. Were you not claiming the other night I was wounding your pride by not asking for help?”

He relented. “Guess to some extent you're right.” He studied her for a long, discomfiting minute. “Who needs you, Greta?”

Her heart began to pound. A personal question. There he goes Once again, he poked a stick at her proverbial wounded animal. “No one. I told you.”

“Is that the way you like it?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

“Why?”

She sucked in a breath, considering her response. “Frankly, I don't think I'd be very good at being depended on for a long period of time.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Well, you hardly know me,” she clipped.

“I know,” he drawled in a seductive voice. “I'm working on that.”

Fear brushed through her.
He's working on it?
If she let Mason Renclair have his way, she'd be exposed in no time. He'd peel her layers one by one until he knew everything about her.

A voice inside whispered,
would that be so bad?

“So,” he began, sitting back, changing the subject. “What did you ask Santa to bring you this year for Christmas?”

Grateful the verbal spotlight was off she relaxed again. “Aren't I a little old for that?”

He shrugged. “You're never too old to ask for what you want. You never know.” A smile began to curve his mouth. “You might get it. Christmas morning, you could wake up and see that what you asked for is right there under the tree.”

She raised a brow and twisted her lips. “I stopped wishing for nonsense like that when I was about ten.”

“Someone broke the news about the man in the red suit?”

“No. I…” She shouldn't tell him. He'd only feel sorry for her. Then again, they were forgotten wishes. Long forgiven. “I never had that kind of Christmas morning. I'd heard of it. The restless sleep the night before, trying to stay up as late as you can, listening for reindeer.” A gurgle of childish excitement built inside her, and she broke into a smile. “Then waking up, running downstairs and seeing a bunch of pretty, shiny gifts under the tree. Tearing them open, and finally getting that present you've been praying and begging for.” Her grin turned wistful. “I never really had that. We were always somewhere different for Christmas, in an empty house, or a cramped apartment with no room for a tree, let alone presents. I always had my record player, though.”

His gaze was speculative, instead of sympathetic, which she hadn't expected. Maybe he sensed she wasn't seeking any compassion. Good. Maybe he
was
getting to know to her.

While his scrutiny continued, it began to unnerve her. “Anyway, my life was anything but traditional. In some ways I was lucky. I grew up fast, learned to keep expectations low. I learned how to negotiate a quick deal and cook my own meals by the time I was old enough to count money.”

The warmth of his smile echoed in his smooth, deep voice. “That's what makes you even more special.”

Her pulse jumped. She wished he wouldn't say things like that, even though it felt good to hear them. More and more, he was breaking her down, dissolving the frost.

Taking a long sip of wine, holding his gaze, she attempted to wash down the fluttering in her stomach. The effects of the cabernet created a fine buzz in her head, and Mason's electric gaze combined with it were making her think of their passionate kiss last night. Licking her lips, she saw him shift his eyes to her mouth, desire igniting.

“Tell me, Mason. What do you want for Christmas?” she asked huskily, hoping she already knew the answer.

“You,” he answered, taking her bait. “All wrapped up in ribbon.”

“You mean you want my body,” she arched.

He displayed sham innocence. “Don't you come with it?”

Her laughter was soft. “Is that all you want?”

“I always want more.” His hand skimmed over her knuckles, and flesh bumps surfaced on her arm. “But I'm not greedy; I'll take one thing at a time.”

Oh, boy. “Didn't I tell you when we first met I sensed something dangerous about you?”

He nodded. “Afraid of me again?”

“Afraid if I give up one thing, you'll steal the rest.”

His chuckle was low, agreeing, as if he intended to do just that.

Once she gave him her body, it would be easy to hand over more, wouldn't it? The desire, the yearning for him, somehow overrode her fear it would happen. Or maybe that was the wine. Regardless of either, she wanted Mason, and soon—maybe even tonight—they were both going to get what they wanted.

Chapter Eight

“If you don't quit doing that,” Mason warned Greta as he drove them to the estate, “you're going to cause a serious accident.”

Her low, sexy laugh made Mason's hand grip the gearshift, his knuckles whitening. Greta was tracing a fingertip on the back of his hand, making him wild, causing him to hit the gas. Pretty soon he was going to pull over, throw the car in park and have his way with her.

But he'd said she had to come to him. By God he prayed that was her agenda once they reached the house.

When he pulled up, heart thundering, hands eager to caress her silky skin, he didn't know how he was going to stay sane much longer.

She put her hand on the door handle. “Nightcap?”

“One more drink and I might have to spend the night.”

She leaned over the console, so close to his face the barest trace of her perfume tickled his nose. Warmth. Roses. The heat from her lips, a mere inch away.
Kiss me, damn it. You know you want to.

Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “One more drink…and I might have to do more than kiss you.”

He heard her laugh as he scrambled out of the car. He felt like a teenager sneaking his girlfriend into the house. Once they were inside, he showed her to the den. “The good stuff is in here.”

Greta removed her coat and flipped on the light. She gasped with a smile. “And so is your grandfather.”

Christopher, who'd nodded off in his chair with a photo album in his lap, woke with a start, frowning. “Huh? Oh, you scared me. What are you two up to? Sneakin' around like cat burglars.”

“Sorry, Grandpa. I came in for Dad's secret bourbon stash. A stash that's obviously not that secret,” he added seeing the opened bottle sitting on the desk.

“I only had a sip!”

Mason gave him an amused, skeptical glance, fitting the plug back in the bottle. “If Mom catches you—”

“Yeah, yeah. Save your breath. She went to bed hours ago.”

“Do you want me to take you to your room?”

“I'd rather sleep in here.”

He gave a half-smile, and turned for the door. “Suit yourself. We'll leave you alone…”

Instead of following him, Greta took a seat on the leather sofa close to his grandfather's wheelchair. “What's this?” she asked, gesturing to the album.

“Some old pictures.”

“May I?” At his nod, she picked up the heavy book and opened it. A very old pamphlet was laminated on the first page. She was immediately intrigued.

His grandfather pointed a crooked, arthritic finger to the brochure. “World's Fair, 1940. The World of Tomorrow,” Christopher explained, watching her interest. “In New York.”

“You were there?” she exclaimed.

“Yes, sugar. I was nineteen, joined the army, and some buddies talked me into driving to New York City for the fair.” His eyes crinkled at the memories. “We thought we were such men back then, but we were nothing but stupid kids from the Georgia back country. The things we saw, wow. And the girls! We hadn't seen nothin' yet.”

Greta's eyes lit up. “Tell me! I'd love to hear about New York in 1940.”

Well, it was easy to conclude he wasn't going to have Greta to himself for a while. If at all. Besides, he never knew his grandfather had been to a world's fair, and clearly the old man had a rapt audience in Greta.

Christopher laughed at something she said, which caused him to cough and wheeze. When he tried to reach for the bourbon, Mason slid it away, shaking his head. His grandpa shooed him, then gave his attention back to Greta. “They called it ‘Dawn of a New Day'. The whole theme was based on the future. Not flying cars and cell phones or any of that riffraff, but bigger ideas about what it could be. The first day it opened, it was hot as the devil, but I got to see Roosevelt's speech. Made it worth sweatin' in my uniform.”

Mason shrugged out of his coat and sat down in one of the chairs. “You saw Franklin Roosevelt?”

“Eh, I was too far away to actually see him, but I was there. I did see Einstein though. His speech wasn't nearly as interestin'. Not to me anyway. I was a soldier, not a scientist.”

One by one, Greta turned through the pages, smiling and pointing at old photographs of Christopher, who told her each and every name, rank and job of the men photographed. Mason watched as his grandfather came to life talking about his youth. Even at his old age, he remembered a remarkable amount of details.

“Look at those shoulders!” Christopher pointed to a picture of himself. “I was a lady-killer. Now look at me, shoulders caved right in.”

“You were very handsome. Still are,” Greta commented, smiling. “You look like Mason in this picture. The hair, the stance. It's uncanny.”

Christopher squinted down at the photo. “Let me see that.” She held up the book. He lifted his glasses to his face and peered close.

Mason came up beside the old man, studying the picture of his grandfather dressed to the nines in a suit, one hand in his pocket, profile averted. Proud, confident, maybe even a little arrogant. They were definitely related. “Mm. I don't see it.” He winked at Greta.

“Me either!” Christopher scoffed, then also winked at her.

She shook her head with a smile. While his grandfather started telling stories to Greta about his time at the fair and in the military, Mason lounged in a chair, watching the two.

He'd never been bested by his elder for a woman's attention before, but he could admit defeat when he saw it. There was no way he was going to seduce her tonight. He wished his parents were there to see the old man so happy, so engaged. All because of Greta.

She really did have a way with the Renclair men.

The next day, late Sunday morning, Greta tightened the silver bow around Sophie's Christmas present and tucked it in among the pile of gifts under the tree in the main house's family room.

“Ready to go?” Sophie asked in the doorway.

“Ready. Let me grab my coat.”

Greta planned to accompany Sophie while she ran some errands, and then they were having lunch. She wouldn't see Mason until later, as he claimed he had some shopping to do. Had Christopher not been in the den last night…well, who knows how the night would've ended? She might have kissed Mason and one thing could've led to a very intimate other. Instead, she sobered up listening to Christopher's stories, wheeled him up to his room and found Mason snoozing in the chair when she got back.

She left him there, not wanting to disturb him for an awkward good-bye. In any case, she needed to think.

He told her he would keep things simple. But the more time she spent with him, the more her emotions tangled with her desire.

And she didn't like that.

On the way to the florist, the radio announced a snowstorm could be headed to Swan's Crossing. It wasn't anything to worry about yet, according to the deejay, who warned it would blow through town during the night and be gone by mid-morning.

“Just what we need,” Sophie groaned. “More snow. Get ready to be trapped in the guesthouse. You won't be able to climb over the mountain in front of your door.”

“Should I store canned goods?” Greta joked.

“Ben will make sure the plows clear the driveway for you.”

“I don't mind being snowed in. Would be the perfect time to catch up on some reading. By the way, let's stop at the market. I'll pick up some comfort food. I would hate for Ben to feel obligated to shovel his way to the guesthouse just to bring me soup and crackers.”

Sophie laughed. “He would, too! That sweet old soul. I'll tell you a story. Mason and I had built a fort in the woods behind the house. My mother
hated
it. Even though you couldn't even see it from the house, she thought it was an eyesore. She wanted to hire a carpenter to design a new one! She couldn't understand why we wanted something
we
built. No matter how shoddy it was.”

“Building a fort with your brother. How adorable.”

She smiled, keeping her eyes on the road. “So, one night during the summer it started to rain. Mason and I thought we would brave it out in our fort. Then we saw Ben coming. I can remember him fast-walking with his umbrella across the backyard and we thought we were in trouble! It wouldn't be the first time our mother sent him to come get us. But he walked up to our fort, pulled out some sandwiches and a walkie-talkie then went back in the house and called us. Pretended we were spies, reporting on my parents' whereabouts. It was so fun! Ben's the best.”

Greta's heart squeezed. She wished she had fun memories of her childhood to share, but none with any significance came to mind. Her youth included a lot of books, plenty of time by herself and no children her age to play with. Though she made up for all that alone time when she grew up. She had many friends now, and was so glad Sophie was one of them.

They'd arrived at the florist, and Greta helped pack several elaborate gift baskets in the backseat. They were stuffed with wine, cheeses, fruit, jam and chocolate. “Who are these for?” she asked as she got back in the passenger seat.

“Our tenants on Fourth Street. We own a small apartment building near the park. Six units. They all live alone but they're like a little family. Every year I bring them a basket. My mother used to do it, but I took over a few years ago. She wanted to sell the building, but I wouldn't let her. Who knows what kind of landlord would take her place? So I told her I would do it.”

When they pulled up to the brick apartment building, Greta couldn't help but smile. They each carried a basket and started at Apartment A.

“Come in, sweetheart! I've been waiting all day for you!” hollered the plump Mrs. Larkin. “Who have you brought with you, Sophie? She looks like a movie star.”

Greta smiled at the old woman. “Hello.”

“Mrs. Larkin,” Sophie spoke in a loud voice so the woman could hear her. “Remember? Greta the nanny.”

The woman laughed. “Oh yes! Sophie's told me all about you. Mainly because I'm an old, boring woman who likes to live vicariously through young people.”

“From what I can see,” Greta noted, reflecting in the cozy apartment that was wall-to-wall with ornate frames and antiques, “there's nothing old or boring about you at all.”

“Sweet girl! She's a good liar too.”

Sophie and Greta laughed.

In apartment B resided Mr. Matsumoto, a Japanese man who showed off his refurbished cuckoo clock, and pictures of his new grandson, who'd been born on his birthday. He thought this was a good omen and convinced Greta to have a shot of sake with him to celebrate.

Lively Mr. Marshall on the second floor in apartment C had a shocking head of silver hair and a true love of classical music. He insisted on putting on a quick concert for them, playing several fanciful songs on his violin, bowing deep at their standing ovation. Greta hadn't known delivering gift baskets could be such an adventure.

Once they picked up a few things at the supermarket, they decided to stop by Galore to say hello to Leo. When Greta saw the closed sign hours before the shop really shut down for business, she turned to Sophie, who appeared equally baffled.

When Mr. Thompson came out to salt the sidewalk in front of his camera store, Sophie called out to him. “Why is Galore closed?”

Mr. Thompson's face was grim. “Leo collapsed this morning and got sent to the hospital. Think he had a heart attack or something.”

“Oh my God.” Greta's hand went to her chest. “Is he okay?”

The balding man shrugged. “I don't know. He's at Saint Anne's. With no one there to run the place, I took the liberty of locking it up for him for now.”

“Oh, poor Mr. Rossi,” Sophie sympathized, squeezing Greta's forearm. “We should go to the hospital.”

When they arrived at Saint Anne's emergency room, Sophie knew the attending doctor, and they were told Leo was resting. Though she wasn't allowed to go in, Greta saw him through the hospital room window with several loved ones at his side. Her eyes filled, devastated for them as well as her friend.

Sophie came up beside her, linking her arms in Greta's. “He had a mild heart attack. He's out of the woods, don't worry. The doctor said he'll be okay. That's his daughter and son-in-law in there.”

Greta's smile was weak. “He'll be happy to see her.”

Leo's daughter, Lena, and Sophie had gone to high school together. Sophie introduced Greta to her. Lena explained how her father had talked about Greta and Mason, and thanked her for helping out. “My husband and I will stay as long as we can. My brother should be here next week. We're going to take turns taking care of Galore while Papa gets better.”

“I would love to help any way I can,” Greta offered.

Lena smiled and squeezed her hand in appreciation. “That would be wonderful.”

That night, Greta lit a candle, got down on her knees and said a prayer for Mr. Rossi. Her heart broke as she thought of him sick, days before Christmas. It wasn't fair. He deserved better. Her little vigil might not make a whole lot of difference, but she'd always been a believer in prayer.

Tears threatened, and she sighed heavily, rising to stand.

It was too easy to get attached. Especially in a place like Swan's Crossing with its quaint surroundings…a place that had delighted her from the beginning. It would be harder to break away from the people she was growing to care for.

Like Leo, Christopher, Anne…

And Mason.

Especially him.

He had her so tied up in knots, she didn't know where she began and ended. Which was so unlike her—to be this emotional, this careless.

Maybe I should go
, she thought.
Before I get in too deep.

What about Sophie? She'd be crushed if she left without a good explanation. How could she explain leaving so abruptly? Sophie wouldn't understand her true reasons.
In a way, even I don't.