Wrapped Up in a Beau (10 page)

Body and soul eclipsed one another and she could take no more, wanting to give back a fraction of the ecstasy he gave her. She gripped his butt, encouraging him to go faster, and raised her mouth to his for a wild, deep kiss. She played with his tongue, feeling his heart hammer against her chest, his hips thrusting.

As Mason's speed increased, she matched it, and hooked her ankles over his lower back. Mason tore his mouth away, burying his face in her neck. His sweaty palm gripped hers, fingers digging into her hand. She closed her eyes.

Mason's rough, loud groan combined with her cries, and together they flew to the highest peak.

The silent winter storm contrasted with the tranquil warmth of the bedroom. Mother Nature made good on her promise, and even as the sun rose the next morning, it did nothing to slow down the snowflakes from the cloudy sky.

Mason didn't know how long he lay there awake, a sleeping Greta in his arms, with a contentment he'd been searching for, but never really found.

When was the last time he felt like this?

Was there ever a time? He'd had his share of relationships. Women whose company he enjoyed. But he always made sure he was understood. Planning for the future—unless it had to do with business—was not his forte. One day at a time, he'd tell them. And eventually, the woman would tire of this pace, give him an ultimatum, and they'd split up. It'd happened so many times, it was almost as if they were reading from a script.

Toying with a lock of her wavy hair between his fingers, he knew it wouldn't be like that with Greta. It already wasn't. She wasn't like other women. She…changed things. Stirred emotions he hadn't thought he was capable of. Not just desire, but other more complex matters. Like his heart. His happiness. Ever since he'd met her, he'd started to see the world with new eyes.

And boy, did she brighten it with her smile and laugh alone. On those two things, he would be happy to have her in his life forever.

He slowly frowned. But he didn't have forever. He had a very specific amount of time. She'd go back to her life abroad and he'd go on with his life in Swan's Crossing. It disturbed him how his gut sank at the thought. Already, he dreaded losing her. Well, he thought, heaving those strange emotions aside, for now, she was there with him.
Not good to think about what it'll be like when she's gone.

Overnight they'd kicked the comforter to the edge of the bed, and he reached to pull it back up. She groaned at the movement, her sleepy, gorgeous brown eyes blinking up at him.

“Hi, handsome.” Her voice was raspy from sleep. With her tangled hair, hooded eyes, and lips still plump and swollen from his kisses, he could barely stop himself from taking her that very moment.

Wait. Why would he stop?

Trapping her beneath him, he bent down and kissed her long, nudging her legs apart with his. Pressing himself against her center, he slid his arm under her back, forcing her body to mold to him. Her lips parted and she let out a whimper. He liked that. So sensual, this woman. So responsive to the lightest touch. He splayed his free hand at her chest and watched as she bowed while he slid his fingers down. He grazed her hip and thigh then back up, cupping her breast. He licked his way up her neck. “I want you,” he rasped, unable to mask the need in his voice.

Making his way to her succulent mouth, he sucked in her bottom lip gently then slid his tongue inside, kissing her with erotic precision.

He inched his way inside her body, and she groaned long, digging her nails in his back with urgent demand. “I want you, too.”

He plunged inside with a moan, shocking them both, stretching her, sinking deep. Powerless to restrain himself this time, wanting her with explosive lust, he pumped with long, fast thrusts, making her cry out. His lovemaking was feverish and carnal, and he clung to her, hungry for the connection. Greta met his violent pace, holding him tight, as he rode them both to a soul-obliterating climax. Her name tore from his ragged throat, and he closed his eyes, lost in blind peace.

They fell asleep for a bit, and he roused her to do it again. He was insatiable it seemed when it came to Greta.

Hopefully, his need for her would dissipate after a while. Because even after they'd made love the third time—and she'd begged for a shower and something to eat—he had the impulse to pull her back. As he watched her slide off the bed wrapped in the white sheet like a goddess, he knew he was headed for trouble. She sent him a seductive smile before disappearing into the bathroom, and his chest tightened uncomfortably.

Don't you do it, Renclair. Don't you fall.

Later, after he'd taken his own shower and come downstairs, he smiled at the sights and sounds that greeted him. Greta's old radio was on, a bluesy Christmas song crackling through. She was baking in the kitchen, and appeared fresh and glowing in her white, low-cut sweater, hair mussed, loose.

Since his stay had been spontaneous, he had nothing to wear except his undershirt and pants from yesterday. There was no evidence of the shirt that had been sacrificed in the fireplace last night, save for a pile of ashes. He quickly contemplated if he should go home to change.

A glance outside showed the storm had finally let up, but had left inches of snow in its wake. His car, buried and blocked in by at least a foot and a half of snow, could barely be recognized.

Though it wouldn't be that difficult to get it out, he determined the effort could wait. He'd call Ben and ask him to bring whatever he could find in his father's closet. “Safe to say you're stuck with me for a while. It'll take a lot of hard work to unearth my car, and I don't work on vacation. We'll just have to keep each other busy until the snow melts.”

She smiled, setting a plate of hot biscuits on the table. “That sounds like it could take a while.”

He winked at her, pulling out a chair. “At least for one afternoon.”

Along with extra biscuits and jam, she brought over a pot of coffee with two mugs. They nibbled on the food, making small talk, and playing footsie under the table.

He didn't want to bring up last night and spoil the mood, but he had questions, and they weren't going away. By pure chance, he'd seen her on the road, and if he hadn't, she would've been long gone. Crumpling up his napkin, he cleared his throat. “About yesterday—”

“Omigod, I forgot. The car! I need to call a tow truck,” she exclaimed and sprung up, but before she could escape, he caught her hand.

“Greta, we have to talk about this.” Her brown eyes gazed down at him with regret. She didn't want to explain herself. But he had to know. “The rental car is fine. Sit down. I want to know what made you want to bolt to the airport.”

She hesitated then sank down on the seat, shaking her head. “Honestly, I don't really know. I was spooked. I wanted to leave—didn't want to become more attached than I already am.”

“Why is that such a bad thing?”

“It's who I am, Mason. I've been coming and going as I please for years.”

He understood her reasons, even though he didn't know where they came from. Something must have happened for her to feel this way. A broken home. A broken family. The one she avoided discussing at all times. And it dawned on him why she pushed for him to appreciate his own family, the place he grew up.

But he couldn't ask her why she really had such a restless heart. At least, not yet. Reaching, he interlaced his fingers in hers. “I care about you. And I know I'm not the only one. Whether or not you want to admit it, you
are
involved, even if it is for a short time. You're the reason I'm enjoying Christmas at home again.”

Her smile tugged at his heart, as it was both wistful and sad. He wished with everything he had she would be a part of more than the holidays.

When she slid her hand out of his, pulling away emotionally as well as physically, he got a swift proverbial kick to the stomach. She rose and gathered their dirty dishes, heading to the kitchen.

She meant it when she declared she didn't like getting attached, already separating herself from this conversation. Frustration bubbled inside him. How easy it was for her. And how hard it was for him. Didn't used to be that way. The woman was turning him into a sap. Well, if she could withdraw her emotions, then so could he.

“I'll call a tow for your rental,” he told her, taking out his cell phone. From this moment on, he'd stop pushing her away with his uncomfortable inquiries, and make sure she enjoyed her Christmas.

By noon, the sun came out, and someone in the main house had called to clear the driveways.

While the plows came in, Mason chased Greta around like two kids playing house. She teased him with mistletoe in her hand, daring him to catch her. And he did, hoisting her on the table and kissing her until they were both panting for breath. Then they spent a couple hours cuddling on the sofa watching
Miracle on 34th Street
, Greta's favorite.

After a phone call, Ben met Mason at the back door of the main house and handed him a neatly folded pile of clothes from his father's closet. No doubt the butler had an opinion about the request, but he didn't utter a word.

Sophie called to check on Greta, and they chatted while Mason brought in more firewood. He overheard Greta claiming she wanted to stay inside and be lazy for the day, and it sounded like Sophie herself didn't want to go out, either. They made plans to meet up for brunch, then facials at the Sophie's favorite salon.

Over a simple dinner, he and Greta talked about her travels and experiences—good and bad—of living abroad. Mason was enthralled by her stories of adventure, the people she met, and the tidbits of glamour intermixed with moments of humble living.

At one time, she'd described sleeping in a barn loft and feeding an elderly couple's chickens and pigs for a month. Then had befriended the daughter of a wealthy Italian businessman, who'd hired her to teach the girl French. She'd been invited to countless parties, chauffeured from one high profile event to another.

He thought he could match her with his own tales of places he'd been, but they seemed touristy and predictable compared to Greta's. He admired her fearlessness; not many women had the gumption to explore like she did. Now he understood why she never stayed in one place long enough to call home. Her free spirit wouldn't let her.

A familiar tune came on the radio and she stopped mid-sentence, turning up the volume. “Good song.”

When he took her hand and rose, the delight on her face made his heart skip a beat. “Let's see if I can compare to Leo.”

Her smile was soft. “We've done this before, so I have no doubt.” Her mouth turned down. “I hope he comes out of this okay.” She came in close as they danced.

“I'm sure he will. He's not the sort of man who wouldn't.”

“I agree. He's so full of life—such a big heart too. I met his daughter at the hospital. She's going to have a baby! He'll make such a wonderful grandfather. He reminds me of…”

“Of…?” By her hesitation, he assumed she didn't want to speak of the person readily. Since he'd sworn to himself he wouldn't press, he let her decide.

“Of my father,” she finished. As they danced, Mason waited, allowing Greta to share with him what she chose. “Well, on his good days. Very animated, charming and fun to be around. That's all I really remember of him.” She gave a slight shrug, resting her chin on Mason's shoulder as they swayed to the music. “My father was hardly a part of my life. My mother died when I was a baby and I don't think he really knew what to do with me once she was gone. I spent most of my childhood hopping from one family friend and neighbor to another. His parents were gone, her parents were gone and his only brother lived as a recluse somewhere in Colorado.”

She sighed, pausing for a while. “My dad was handsome and charismatic, and made friends easily. Women fell for him fast. They felt sorry for him because he was a single father, and once he convinced them to take care of me for a while, he'd go off and try to get rich quick. But it never worked out the way he wanted, and eventually they would get tired of taking care of someone else's child, and he'd have to move me somewhere else.”

No wonder she didn't like talking about her family. It was virtually nonexistent. How could a father treat his little girl like this? Mason's heart pained, understanding why she hadn't divulged the details before.

“Don't get me wrong. He did have good intentions,” she continued. “And when he finally walked in the door after being gone for weeks, he'd win my love all over again. But he never stayed. He'd make promises, bring me things, but he always left when a new scam was too hard to resist.” Her short laugh was dry. “You asked me where I got my restless spirit from.”

“Where is he now?”

“He died when I was nineteen.”

“I'm very sorry.”

“Me too.” She met his eyes with a sad smile, and it lurched something inside him. He wanted to tear heaven and earth to see the pain wiped from her gaze.

She shook her head. “Let's not ruin the song with depressing memories. Show me how dreamy you can be, Mr. Renclair. What's your best dance move?”

Glad to oblige, to see her smile again, he turned her under his arm, yanked her to him and lowered her in a dip. She laughed, head falling back, and as he slowly brought her up, he kissed her the entire way. Kissed her lovingly, even if he couldn't voice his growing, strange feelings.

She moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Mmm. That's a good move. You taste like lust and biscuits.” She giggled at her words and pressed her body into him.

Talk of her father was over, and Mason couldn't help but begrudge the man for what he'd done. Too bad he hadn't lived long enough to see what a vibrant, beautiful, intelligent woman she'd become. Mr. Marcum was really missing out.
And soon I will be too.