Wrapped in You (8 page)

Trudy felt a strange longing in her chest. She’d never imagined having children, but she could see the allure.

What kind of father would Mason make?

She didn’t even have to think about it—he’d be a fabulous father.

She cleared her throat. “Actually, I was looking for a waterproof jacket.”

The woman shook her head. “I can’t help you there. I’m not even sure there’s a store close by that’ll have something suitable. But I have something better.”

“What?”

The woman strode to a wardrobe across the room and pulled open a drawer. She rummaged through the contents and then triumphantly held up something crimson. “Here we go. Your size.”

She stared at the scraps of fabric suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Lingerie.” The woman headed toward the velvet curtains at the back of the store. “Humor me and try it on. It’s going to look great on you.”

She found herself following her, like the woman was some sort of lace piped piper. “I didn’t need knickers. I need a waterproof jacket.”

“Trust me”—the woman set the underwear on a chair in the dressing room—”you need this, you just don’t know it yet. But that’s why I’m here, to save you from yourself.”

Trudy pointed at the deep red satin the woman hung in the dressing room. “That’s not who I am.”

The woman put her hands on her hips. “Have you worn these before?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

Trudy blinked. “I—”

“Just try it. There’s no obligation,” the woman said, guiding her into the dressing room. As she closed the drape, she said, “You’re humoring me.”

Trudy picked up the deep-red underwear. She didn’t own anything like this. She never wore underwear.

But she put it on and faced the mirror. She hardly had the sort of body that should be shown off in anything like this, but it took the little she had and made it mysterious. It was the sort of underwear a woman wore for a man.

She imagined Mason seeing her in it. He’d like it.

She shook her head. He wasn’t seeing her in it. She was the one who’d set the ground rules, after all. They weren’t getting intimate.

Hot sex wouldn’t be intimate—it’d just be a release. Medicinal, really.

One thing was sure: It’d definitely be hot if she wore this for him.

“I have another one for you to try on, too.” The woman passed lavender lace over the top of the dressing room. “I realize you probably only wear black, but this will look awesome with your hair, which I love, by the way.”

“Okay,” Trudy said weakly, powerless to do anything but accept the set.

Dark red she might wear, but lavender wasn’t her at all. So when it looked so perfect on her, she couldn’t do anything but stare at her reflection. It did compliment the purple streaks in her hair, which were more lavender now that they’d grown in. The lace was feminine without being girly and mysterious despite the frilly fabric and color.

Only she liked it.

She swallowed, touching the edge of the lace. She looked different, but not so different that she didn’t recognize herself.

Reluctantly she stripped the underwear off, put her clothes on, and went back out.

The woman smiled at her from behind the register. “What’d you think?”

“You have arcane powers I don’t understand.” Trudy set both by the register. “I’ll take them both.”

“Good decision.” She rang up the purchase and wrapped the lingerie in tissue before putting it in a burgundy bag. As she handed over the bag, she said, “Sorry I couldn’t help you with the waterproof clothing, but if you ever need satin and lace, I’m your woman. My name is Olivia.”

“Thank you.” Trudy smiled, actually excited about her purchase.

She quickly checked out a couple other stores, but when it became apparent that Laurel Heights catered to more expensive tastes and not the outdoorsy sort who’d need a waterproof jacket, she gave up and went to Grounds for Thought for a treat.

Eve smiled at her as she walked in. “Hey there, Trudy. Latte?”

“With Nutella,” she said as she sat at the counter. “And a scone, please.”

“Good choice.”

Trudy lingered talking with Eve so long that she had to take a cab directly to the address Mason had sent her. When she arrived, he was already waiting for her outside.

A smile lit his face when he saw her. Its brightness rivaled the yellow and peach outfit he had on. She needed to do something about that.

“There you are,” he said. “I wondered if you got lost.”

“No, just sidetracked.” She couldn’t help returning his smile.

He glanced at the little bag in her hand. “Did you find a waterproof jacket?”

“Er”—she flushed, thinking of the lace in the bag—”no.”

“What did you buy?” he asked, trying to peek into the bag.

She held it out of his reach. “None of your business.”

“Now I’m really curious.” He crossed his arms. “Tell me, Gertrude Heathe-Hawkley.”

“No. Especially not when you use my given name.”

“I’ll find out eventually, you know.”

She was afraid of that. She just raised her brow to maintain the illusion of a boundary.

“Fine. Let’s go build a snowman.” He took her hand and pulled her through a warehouse door.

“Where are we?” She looked around the bare facility. It looked like a workshop of sort, with all sorts of different tools arranged in stations. “And how are we building a snowman here?”

“Someone I know owns this place. He’s a welder, but there’s a large walk-in freezer in the back.” He grinned. “I rented a snow machine.”

She stopped walking and gaped at him. “You rented a snow machine?”

“Yep.” His grin widened.

“For me?” She swallowed down the emotion that clogged her throat.

“Well, yeah.” He tugged the ends of her scarf. “I have something to go with this scarf, by the way. You’ll love it.”

“Is it a Santa’s hat?”

“That’s been done.” He pulled out a beanie from his jacket pocket and pulled it over her head to cover her ears. It had a red pompom on top. “Perfect. Ready to build the best snowman ever?”

“Yes.” She set her bag next to the door and walked into the freezer.

It
was
big—twice as big as her hotel room. There were icicles hanging from the ceiling and a couple inches of snow covered the floor. A machine hummed in the corner, laboring to output more flakes. It was a white wonderland.

“This is—” Trudy shook her head, stunned, at a loss for words.

“Magnificent?” Mason offered, zipping up his jacket.

“Mental,” she said as she did a slow circle, shaking her head.

Something cold splattered on her back, dripping down into the back of her pants. She screeched and whirled around.

He packed another ball of snow. “I probably failed to mention this, but I’m a champion snowball fighter.”

She arched her brow as she bent down to gather her own. “You have trophies, do you?”

“I hold the title.” He threw another at her, hitting her square on the chest.

Sputtering, laughing, she launched her own snowball. It hit him on the shoulder, making him yowl.

She smirked. “Is that all you’ve got, Mr. Snowball Stud Muffin?”

“This is war,” he said as he threw a barrage at her.

Laughing, she dodged some, vaulting her own.

She’d just hit him with one on the side of his head when he charged her and took her down to the ground. He twisted so she landed on him, but he reversed them immediately so she was caught under him.

She shrieked. “It’s cold!”

“No kidding, Gertrude.” He lowered his head. “But I’ll warm you up.”

The moment his lips touched hers, she forgot about the cold and the wetness her pants were soaking up. She swore the snow under them melted and begin to steam, the kiss was so hot.

When he finally lifted his head, he looked as dazed as she felt.

“Knickers,” she blurted.

He blinked blankly. “Knickers?”

“In the bag. I bought knickers. Lingerie, more precisely.”

He glanced down at her chest.

Her nipples peaked under her shirt, from his gaze and not the cold. “I’m not wearing it now.”

“What are you wearing now?”

“Nothing.”

He blinked. “You’ve really been commando every time we’ve met?”

“Yes.”

He swallowed audibly. Then he hauled her up. “You keep trying to distract me. We have a snowman to make.”

She faced him, rubbing her hands together. Now that she wasn’t touching him, she could feel the cold. She should have bought gloves. “So what do we do?”

He blinked at her. “You’ve never made a snowman before?”

“That’d require spending time outside.” At his incredulous look, she shrugged. “I prefer spending time with my computer.”

“When I was a kid, Mom used to insist that I go outside and play, but I’d take a notebook and handwrite code for whatever program I was working on.”

She shrugged. “My mum thought I was reading in my room, but I’d hack into the school system and adjust my grades.”

“I already knew you were perfect, but now I have proof.” He grabbed her by the scarf and kissed her hard but brief. “Come on, I’ll show you how to do this.”

He showed her how to pack a snowball, and then they rolled them around until they had three varying sizes.

“How do you know how to build a snowman?” she asked as he stacked one large snowball onto a larger one.

“I grew up in Iowa, but you know that because you checked up on me.” He winked before he continued. “There wasn’t anything else to do in the winters, except tipping cows. If I were home right now, that’s what I’d be doing. How about you?”

“What about me?” she asked, setting her smaller snowball on top.

“I’d be tipping cows in Iowa during a normal holiday break. What would you be doing normally? If you were at home and your boss hadn’t sent you the holiday list from hell?”

“I’d hole up at home and watch action movies.”

Mason perked up. “We should have a movie night. We can watch holiday classics, in keeping with the theme.”

Trudy groaned.

“Come on. You, me, and
It’s a Wonderful Life
?” He nudged her. “You know you’ll have fun.”

“Right.” But he was right—she would. Even a corny movie would be better than being alone in her hotel room, especially if it were with Mason.

“Done,” he declared, rubbing his hands together. He nodded at their creation. “What do you think?”

She walked around the snowman, though at a foot tall it was more of a snowdwarf. “It looks like a buzzard.”

“It’s a cute buzzard.” He took the beanie off her head and stuck it on the snowbuzzard. “Perfect. Shall I do the honors?”

“Please.” She watched him take his mobile out and prep a picture. At the last moment, she photobombed it, kneeling down behind the thing they’d made and giving Jon the two-finger salute.

Mason checked the photo and smiled. “You really are so photogenic.”

Chapter Six