Wrapped Up in a Beau (9 page)

In the end, she knew Sophie would be disappointed, but would accept her decision.

However, Mason was another story. He'd make her explain. Gazing out the window, she knew if she was going to leave Swan's Crossing, she had to do it now, before the storm. She pulled out her suitcases, flipping them open.

She'd call Sophie in the morning
.

As for Mason, well, perhaps she would send him a text message while at the airport. Coward. A text message? She had no idea what she would say.
I had a lovely time. Please understand I had to leave early for personal reasons?

It all sounded ridiculous. But she didn't have time to articulate a good-bye now.

A half hour later, her luggage thrown in the rental car, she tucked the key to the guesthouse under the mat. As she backed out of the guest driveway, and turned into the main drive, her chest tightened with swift regret. The main house in her rearview mirror, she avoided looking back. This was best.

Good-bye, Swan's Crossing.

Chapter Nine

By the time she made it down the winding road from the estate to the main drag out of town, the inside of the windshield had fogged up, making it difficult to see. And the roads were icy. Frustrated, she wiped the glass with her gloved hand.

When an oncoming car's headlights beamed straight in her eyes—zooming past her like a bat out of hell—she swerved a little too much to avoid a collision, and her rental started to do a tailspin. “Oh no!” Steering a panicked left, then a hard right, Greta held her breath while physics took over and the vehicle turned 180 degrees, then forced the Mustang straight into a ditch, the nose of the car buried. Recovering, realizing she was okay, she fell back in her seat with a groan.

Brilliant. Now she was stuck in a ditch with a storm approaching. So much for her quick getaway.

She shifted the gear to reverse, but her tires only spun. And she definitely couldn't go forward, unless the vehicle was mysteriously equipped to tunnel through snow.

Lights shone through her rear window and she brightened. A good Samaritan!

She pushed open her door and climbed out, trying to find her footing on the awkward slope, her eyes on her feet. “Oh, thank God. I thought I'd be stuck out here—” Only to be hauled up with strong hands nearly nose to nose with a very handsome, very familiar face.

Mason.

“Are you hurt?” he cried.

Her mouth dropped open. Out of all the people, it had to be him?

She started to speak, but nothing would come out.

His eyes assessed her with fast concern. “Greta, I asked if you're hurt. Are you all right?” He gave her a little shake, as if to snap her out of shock. He couldn't know that she'd had rougher rides on the teacups at Euro Disney.

“I-I'm fine. Was that you I just passed?”

“Damn straight it was me. I turned around as soon as I saw it was you. What the hell are you doing driving this beachmobile when a storm is about to hit? And how come you were heading away from town?”

She pushed him off, needing space, and feeling guilty she got caught running away. His concern and care for her well-being blazed a new guilt inside her. Defense was her first instinct. “Obviously I'm not the only one out on the road. If you weren't driving like a demon, I wouldn't be in this mess. Do you always drive like that on precarious roads?”

“I know these roads blindfolded.”

“Well, it certainly appeared you were driving that way.”

“You're avoiding my question. Where were you going this time of night?”

She floundered for a lie, but the truth insisted on coming out. “The airport.”

He blinked, confused. “You're supposed to stay until Christmas. What's going on?”

“Nothing. I want to go back to England.” She grabbed her cell out of her pocket, wishing she could improvise a more articulate excuse. “I need someone to pull me out of the ditch.”

“Wait. Talk to me.” He took her by the shoulders, stilling her. “What happened? Don't push me out. I need to know what brought this on. I don't understand why you'd leave without telling me.”

Even with his gorgeous eyes pleading for an explanation, Greta didn't respond.

He sighed, dropping his hands. “Sophie told me about Mr. Rossi, and how you two went to visit him this afternoon. I would've gone myself but I was taking care of a few things. I was on my way to see you. To see if you wanted to help his family at Galore while he's recovering.”

“That's what I'm talking about.” She stomped away from him. “I can't! I shouldn't be any more involved. I have no right to intrude in people's lives when I'm leaving in a week.”

“That doesn't make sense. You're not intruding on anyone.”

Emotions were surfacing, and the need to unburden overwhelmed her. Turning, she confessed. “You were right. I'm lonely. Want to know the truth, Mason? Every December, I pretend I have nothing better to do, so I can ask a friend to come visit them and their family during the holidays. Isn't that pathetic? I basically use my friends to avoid being alone on Christmas.”

Mason studied her and she dropped her gaze, humiliated at her admission. “That's what this is about?” he asked. “You're feeling guilty for spending Christmas with people who care about you?”

Nice sugar coat. “I've been taking advantage of my friends.”

“I'm sure none of them see it that way.”

“Sure they do. Poor, pitiful Greta. On the outside looking in. No family of her own so she wants to be a part of ours for a week. They would never say it, but they have to be thinking it.”

“True friends wouldn't care. They'd be happy to have you around. Like Sophie. You think she invited you because she feels sorry for you?” He gave her a small smile. “I can tell you right now she asked you to come because she adores you. And considers you family, like a sister she never had. She wanted someone here to support her…and complain to,” he added with a chuckle.

She shook her head, turning her back. “It's still wrong.”

“So you're running away because you don't want to get too close? Is that it?” When she didn't answer, he caught her arm, turning her around. “Did it ever occur to you what you'd be doing if you left? Who you'd hurt? Greta, look at me.” He waited for her to meet his eyes. “I'm not just talking about Sophie. Or Leo. I'm talking about me. I've been crazy about you from the second we met. I want you so badly I can barely see straight. If you left without saying good-bye, I would've lost my mind worrying about you. Did you think of that?”

“I was going to send you a text when I got to the airport,” she defended meekly.

“A text message?” he asked weakly, hurt etched in his sharp features. “I thought you wanted to be with me as much I wanted to be with you. I guess I was wrong. If you don't want to stay, if you'd rather be in England than here, I'll get over it.”

With that, he walked past her to his car.

Greta was shaking, and not all of it was due to the elements.

This wouldn't be the first time her spontaneous nature had shamed her, and no doubt it wouldn't be the last. She didn't really want to leave, and she hadn't thought everything through, the hurt she'd cause. She now realized she was tired of running.

This was a sign. She unlocked the back door of the rental and pulled out her suitcases. Mason's eyes were on her as she lugged both to his backseat, opened the door and tossed them in.

She trudged to the passenger side and got in, avoiding his eyes. “I'll call the tow truck in the morning. Will you take me back?”

He nodded, but said nothing more as he started the car.

The short drive was filled with pregnant silence. Greta didn't know what to say. When they pulled up to the guesthouse, Mason left the car running as they climbed out. “I'll help you with your bags.”

Regretting she'd hurt him, she went to retrieve the key under the mat and unlocked the door, wanting to apologize, say something. Leaving the car in idle meant he didn't intend to stay. How could he leave after all he'd said?

While he carried her belongings inside, she rushed back to his car and switched off the ignition, taking the keys. Pulse beating wildly, knots coiling her insides, she walked inside the guesthouse and closed the door.

She'd almost bumped into him as she turned around. Behind him, she saw he'd started a fire for her, and turned on her little radio, which she'd forgotten to pack. Oh, Mason. His expressionless face didn't give her much confidence, and she briefly worried he would reject her.

The next time we kiss
…

Mason's dark brows lowered, and he impatiently reached for the doorknob. She blocked it.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

What I should have done a long time ago
. Dropping his keys, she grasped his face, and pulled his mouth to hers.

She'd surprised him. But only for a moment. His arms locked around her, and he responded with a groan, slanting his head, immediately demanding more. His lips and nose were cold against her face, but his tongue was warm velvet inside her mouth. Blood pounded in her head, her heart, making her knees knock. With a whimper, she broke free, yanked off his scarf and started unbuttoning his coat. Mason scrambled to do the same to hers.

They panted, eager, as she helped him discard her jacket, her boots, her jeans, her sweater. So many stupid layers! Stripped, Greta had nothing on but her bra and underwear.

He surveyed her one breathless moment, eyes like blue fire, raking over her body. “Greta,” he breathed. He swept her up, walked around the sofa and laid her down next to the fire, bending to kiss the space between her breasts. Rising, he stripped off his shirt and pants, tossing his clothes carelessly. She only had a second to admire his toned physique, the powerful set of shoulders, smooth chest and rippled abdomen.

His gaze had darkened with fresh hunger, hooded, as he eased the lacy cup of her bra aside and dipped his head to her nipple. Greta arched at the tantalizing texture of his tongue and gave a little cry of satisfaction. As Mason swept his mouth to the other breast, she gripped his hair, moaning his name. Her whole body was aflame. She could smell the smoke—smoke!

Her eyes flashed open. “Mason! Your clothes!” She sat up on her elbows and stretched an arm to reach for the dress shirt that had been blindly flung on the fireplace gate. A sleeve had caught a burning log and flames were eating the cotton with rapid ease.

Before she could rescue the garment, Mason grabbed the shirt and tossed it in the hearth, causing sparks to fly. “It's a lost cause. Afraid you'll have to deal with me shirtless for the rest of the night.”

Her head fell back and she laughed breathlessly, desire still humming in her head. How could he do it? Make her hot, passionate and giggly at the same time? When she lifted her head to meet his eyes, they were smoldering, while his mouth quirked in amusement. “I love the way you laugh. Have I told you that?”

She smiled. “You just did.” For a second, her heart had stopped when she heard the first two words “I love.” Did she really think he was going to tell her he loved her?

He took her hand and brought her up as he rose, then swept an arm under her knees. “As much as I want to make love to you next to the fire, I plan to take all night, and I think the bed is a lot more comfortable than the floor. What do you think?”

With her hand at the back of his head, she brought him in for a searing kiss. “I think you're taking too long to get me to bed.”

He chuckled and proceeded to carry her up the stairs.

While the silent snow fell thick and steadily outside, the wind blowing against the windows frosting the glass, Mason laid Greta on the bed and removed his boxers. He pulled off her panties and she unhooked her bra. Kissing her stomach, he took his time exploring every inch of her. His palms grazed from her ankle, to her thigh, then slid up her arm to hold down her wrist while he kissed her deep and slow. With his hard, masculine, superbly cut body covering every inch of her, she reveled in how feminine he made her feel. She bent her knee and smoothed her foot down his calf with a pleasurable moan.

She rolled with him, her body languid, yet electrified. He wound his hand around her long hair, forcing her to expose her throat, and he nipped at her neck. When she sat up, he came with her, wrapping his strong arms around her waist. They kissed experimentally, tasting each other, gently biting and sucking lips.

He hungrily transferred his mouth to her nipple and she gripped the back of his head—the sensation on the tender flesh shooting sparks to each tiny nerve in her limbs. Everything ached and yearned for Mason to caress again, taste again. It was heaven to feel his desire. She couldn't recall ever experiencing such growing passion, aching to feed it.

He locked an arm around her, and swung her to her back.

When his fingertips brushed between her legs, she nearly cried out, bowing her body, wanting more, and curved up to offer. He obliged, reading her body's request, sliding his fingers over her wet center. Her hands clenched his shoulders and she gasped. When his mouth sought hers, capturing her breathlessness, she nearly moaned with relief.

When he lifted his head, eyes searching, she kissed him. In the semi-dark, with her heart racing and her blood roaring in her ears, she was overwhelmed, unable to label it. All she knew was what he was doing to her. She couldn't control the quiver through her body.

Mistaking her reaction, Mason brought the sheets and down comforter over their bodies, as he planted soft kisses on her cheeks, back to her lips.

His kiss was tender. Reaching to the nightstand, she plucked the lid off the tiny silver pot where she kept some jewelry…and protection. Good thing she had the forethought to buy some before tonight.

“Thank God,” he breathed, taking it from her. “For a second there I thought we'd have to stop.”

He quickly rolled on the condom as she wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her legs. Bending down, he traced his mouth over hers before easing inside, and she gasped as he stretched her. He groaned low with every inch, until he was deep within, beginning to pump. She bit her lip, head falling back at the exquisite rapture of making love. His flesh was hot—a wide back, muscles that bulged underneath her fingers.

The more Mason took his time, the more she craved, the more she wanted him completely. The calm storm inside her turned and transformed to a raging whirlwind of liquid heat and exaltation. It eclipsed everything around her—everything except him. All she could see, touch, taste, hear and speak was Mason, and how he made her feel. Oh my, how he made her feel.

As he thrust inside her, she cried out with wordless rapture over and over. His ardor was remarkably, impressively inhibited, as he slightly rotated his hips to give her more pleasure. Seeming to want to take his time.

Their bodies were slick and hot under the sheets, grinding—seeking to culminate together. Greta breathed in deep, soul-drenching drafts, the rush speeding through every cell. On the inside, she exploded, forcing her to cry out his name, long and broken, clinging to him.