Wrapped in You (6 page)

“I’ve got skills, babe.” He began to skate backwards, arms extended. He held up his phone. “Ready for your photo op?”

Just as she was going to reply, her feet slipped out from under her and she landed on her arse. “
Ow, damn it
.”

He focused his mobile’s camera on her. Right as he was taking the picture, she lifted both her middle fingers and scowled.

He looked at his screen and started to laugh. “Classic.” Putting it back in his pocket, he skated toward her and hauled her up. “You okay?”

“My arse is going to be black and blue,” she grumbled.

He looked behind her. “I can kiss it and make it better.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “You’re a pal.”

“I just like you, Gertrude,” he said, holding her close when she began to slip again.

She frowned to cover the feelings she didn’t want to have. “Call me Gertrude again and I’ll get my hatchet out.”

He brushed the hair from her eyes. “You don’t want to hurt me,” he said softly but with certainty. “You like me.”

He was right, damn it—on both counts. And it wasn’t comforting at all.

Chapter Four

Trudy arrived at the address that Mason had sent her. She’d imagined the sort of place where he’d live: something ultramodern with sleek lines, with all his trendy clothes hung in his closet, organized by color.

She wasn’t prepared for the gingerbread house that stood before her. There were three flats in the building—she knew that because of the three mailboxes at the top of the porch. The house was, of course, decorated with multicolored lights, making it look that much more holiday picture-perfect.

Sighing, Trudy trudged up to Mason’s door and knocked.

There was a pounding of feet down stairs, and the door jerked open. He smiled wide. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

She tried not to be charmed as she entered. There was a long flight of stairs up and nothing else in the entry.

“My flat is upstairs.” He closed the door and motioned. “I’ll give the grand tour before we go caroling.”

She groaned.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Was that for the tour, or the caroling?”

“What if I came to your door and pretended like I was singing, and you took a picture, and we call it a night?”

“It’d be a lie, and you’d never be able to live with it.”

How did he know that about her? “You seem very sure of this.”

“I am.” He took her coat at the top of the stairs and set it on the railing. “Kitchen is that way, in case singing makes you ravenous. The dining room is next to it, and this is the living room.”

She looked down the hall, surprised by several things. One: that he had grown-up furniture rather than what the usual bachelor had. Two: that it was lived in—not messy but not neat either.

Three: there was no color here, just black. Given his proclivity for colorful clothing, it seemed bizarre.

“I have a spare bedroom I use mostly as an office, except for when someone visits.” He opened a side door so she could peek in. Then he continued down the hall. “The bathroom is here, and, lastly, my bedroom.”

“A bedroom says a lot about a person,” she said as she entered it. It was all white, cool, and refreshing. Simple. The only splash of color was his clothes piled on a chair, a discordant tangled rainbow.

Mason leaned in the doorway, watching her take it all in. “What does my room say about me?”

“That you have better taste in furnishings than clothing.” She smiled at him over her shoulder. “It’s lovely in here. Soothing.”

“What do you mean about my clothing?” He looked down at his outfit. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

She arched her brow at the magenta pants he had on. She didn’t even realize they made pants that color. “It’s a rather bold color combination.”

“Blue and khaki?” he asked with a dubious frown.

She shook her head. “What are you talking about? You’re wearing magenta and green.”

“I am?” He frowned at his pants. “No wonder they were on sale.”

“You can’t see colors,” she said in sudden comprehension. He had no idea he was a clownster. “You’re colorblind.”

“No, I just see some colors a little differently.”

Same difference. “What color is my hair?”

“Black with light blue stripes.”

They were purple. She shook her head. “Your color palette is a little off. Your family never pointed that out to you?”

He shrugged. “I always wore jeans at home. I bought this wardrobe to be more cosmopolitan when I started this job.”

Poor man. She was going to have to help him. She couldn’t let him go through life in magenta pants. “You need me.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you, but you need me, too.” He went to his closet. “Speaking of which, I have something for you.”

Dread made her take a step back. She loved giving presents but she hated receiving them. Except the scarf—oddly she loved the scarf. “Is it another scarf?”

“No, you already have a really nice one.” He came out of the closet carrying a bag with a Santa and sleigh on it.

“Should I be afraid?” she asked as she accepted it.

“Only a little.” He grinned.

She peeked into the bag. “A sweater,” she said in pleased surprise. It was a deep dark red that would actually look nice on.

“Try it on.”

She pulled it out of the bag and froze. “There’s reindeer on this.”

“It’s perfect, right?” he exclaimed, enthusiastic. “Wait, there’s more.”

When she saw him pull out a couple Santa hats, she groaned.

“Come on.” He put his on and held the other out. “This is going to be fun. Put them on.”

“Where’s your holiday sweater?” she asked as she pulled it over her head.

“You’re the one who needs to show holiday spirit. I’m just the cameraman.” He nodded. “It looks great on you. The studded collar is a great touch.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re really enjoying this.”

“I really am.” He took her hand. “Come on. I have lyrics printed out.”

She glanced at where his fingers twined with hers. He held her hand so easily, as if it were something simple.

Nothing about it felt simple to her. It made her palms sweat like she was a teenager on her first date, wondering if the boy would kiss her.

Would Mason kiss her tonight?

Did she want him to?

“Yes,” she said.

He glanced at her. “Yes?”

“Yes, I’m going to murder Jon for making me do this,” she improvised.

“I don’t believe that’s what you were thinking, but we can get back to that later.” He sat on his couch in the living room and pulled her next to him. Reaching for a short stack of papers on the table, he said, “I wasn’t sure how many holiday songs you’d know, so I printed a bunch to give you options.”

She felt bereft when he let go of her hand and gave her the pages. Frowning, she read the lyrics, which included telling someone to light her up and put her on top.

She must have looked baffled, because Mason laughed, “It’s Lady Gaga. I figured if there were a holiday song you’d sing, it’d be hers. She’s awesome. You’re like her. You’re rare and do your own thing unapologetically.”

“Rare?”

He shrugged. “Everyone is unique. You’re rare.”

She lowered her gaze, stunned. He made her feel the way her parents never could, and she loved it.

Only as happy as it made her, it also made her wary. Her parents were
her parents
and they didn’t value her. Mason was just a guy she’d met. How could she trust that?

He stuck the hat on her head. “Come on. We’re going to do the test run on my neighbor. Hazel is great, you’ll like her.”

Hazel, his downstairs neighbor, opened the door right away. Her face lit up when she saw Mason, but the painful hope in her eyes died the moment she noticed him holding Trudy’s hand.

“Hey, Hazel,” he said obliviously. “This is my friend, Trudy. We’re going caroling and thought we’d start here. I figure you won’t call the cops.”

Hazel tried to smile bravely at them both. “I’d love to hear you sing.”

Trudy glanced at Mason. He truly had no inkling of the girl’s feelings. She felt a pang of sympathy, and she discreetly pulled her hand from his. No sense in adding to her pain.

Mason shuffled the papers and handed her a sheet.

She gave him a flat look. “’Santa got run over by a reindeer?’”

“Don’t question it, Gertrude.” He pulled out his phone and started to play music. “Just sing.”

She rolled her eyes but started to sing the lyrics the best that she could. Mason joined in with a surprising, strong tenor that carried the silly song. She glanced at him, shocked.

He winked and kept singing.

The song ended, and Hazel clapped enthusiastically. “That was super. You guys were great. Have you done this before?”

“No, but Trudy and I were thinking of taking it on the road.” He pretended to punch Hazel’s shoulder. “Thanks for listening, kid.”

Hazel pouted a little, but she faced Trudy and offered her a tentative smile. “Have fun tonight.”

“Thank you,” Trudy murmured, touched by the girl’s effort. She wasn’t certain she’d have been so gracious if the man she had a crush on brought another woman to her doorstep.

They walked down the walkway to the street. Mason led her like he had a plan, which he probably did.

“How long has Hazel been in love with you?” she asked after they were out of earshot.

Mason frowned at her. “What are you talking about? She’s not in love with me.”

“Are you that blind?” Trudy pointed behind her. “Hazel practically wilted when she saw you holding my hand.”

“
You’re
holding
my
hand, and I’ve never done anything to make her think that we’re anything but friends.”

Trudy rolled her eyes. “Because feelings know logic.”

He poked her. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” she lied.

“Who was your last boyfriend?”

“Why do you want to know about my last boyfriend?”

“So I can be jealous, too.”

“I don’t have boyfriends.”

He looked at her curiously. “Really.”

She poked his shoulder. “Don’t start imagining me with girls, I’m saying I’m dedicated to my work. I’ve been too busy to date. I’ve been busy helping Jon build the business.”

“You know, I have no idea what sort of business it is.”

“Private investigation,” she said simply. Jon used to specialize in extractions, but he’d become burnt out and changed his focus.

“And you’re going to be a partner.”

She nodded. “Jon’s the brawn, but I’m the brains. I can find anything online.”

“Is that what you’ve done historically?”

“Yes.”

He glanced at her curiously. “Did you research me?”

“Of course.” She looked at him. “Does that upset you?”

“No.” Grinning, he squeezed her hand. “I’m kind of flattered, actually. Did you find my criminal record?”

“I didn’t look that deep,” she said, trying not to smile.

“Bummer.” He led her around a corner to a street of large, posh houses. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“It’s not work keeping you from having a boyfriend. You just haven’t found someone who’s worth taking the time for.”

This again. “Are you speaking from experience?”