Free Wrapped Up in a Beau by Angelita Gill Page B

him, but the child-like displeasure on his face. When Sophie mentioned “costumes” she didn’t mean cheap off-the-rack knockoffs. These were fit for a play. The hotel definitely took their holiday bedtime service seriously and expected their volunteers to dress the part.
    Greta had been outfitted in a traditional ivory-colored Victorian scoop-neck dress with puffy sleeves, a pointed waist and hoop skirt. Using a curling iron Sophie provided, she had twined her hair into tight ringlets, tied on a bonnet, and donned pink flats. How fun it could be to dress up from another time.
    Too bad Mason wasn’t getting into the spirit.
    He’d been given the standard clothing for a man from the same era: a black top hat, white long-sleeved shirt with a dark silk tie around the neck to keep the collar raised, a brocade vest, a formal cutaway coat with tails and—his favorite—straight, snug trousers in a neutral shade.
    Though, he did have a right to feel a little self-conscious…the trousers showed off every sinew of muscle in his strong legs. For heaven’s sake, she had no idea he was so muscular. Then again, she did have some knowledge of his physique, remembering how his muscles had pressed into her last night. When she lifted her gaze up to his, his mouth twisted with a smile, as if he could read her thoughts. “I’m beginning to think it’s not so bad.”
    Sophie held out her hands, missing their exchange. “See? I think you look fantastic. Once you put the shoes on, you’ll feel a lot more…masculine.”
    Greta gave a dry laugh. “I don’t think he’s in any danger of losing his masculinity.”
    He took a seat on a vanity bench and grabbed one of the boots. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
    â€œWell, I think this is a brilliant idea,” Greta commented, picking up the faux fur muff. “The Victorian age was so romantic. They were practical and stylish at the same time. Take this muff. It keeps my hands warm without having to stuff them in coat pockets. I should buy one. I can’t believe I don’t own one already.”
    Sophie’s iPhone went off and moments later it seemed she had a proverbial fire to put out. “Argh. I have to go. Here are the names and room numbers you’ve been assigned to. The Beckers, the Allermans, and the O’Reilly children. Even though I should punish you for whining, I’ll give the Wanderheim children to my vet storytellers.” She winked and handed Greta a list. “Either the nannies or the parents will be there to let you in.”
    â€œAll we have to do is tuck them in, read a story and say good night?” Greta asked.
    â€œThat’s it. Don’t worry if they don’t fall asleep, that’s the nanny’s job when they get back. Read the stories, keep the Christmas spirit, and try—” She gave Mason a pointed gaze. “—to stay in character.”
    â€œWhat does that mean? Should I use an accent?” Mason asked, mocking the second question with a cockney lilt.
    â€œYou know exactly what I mean. No telling them Santa Claus is a commercial entity, or that reindeer don’t fly, that candy rots your teeth, or that they should ask for encyclopedias for presents.”
    Greta moved her gaze back and forth between the pair. “Why does this sound personal?”
    The siblings nodded shortly at each other, both saying, “Grandpa Renclair.”
    Greta laughed. “Jinx.”
    Sophie’s phone went off again. “Argh! I’m coming. Hold your friggin’ horses.”
    Silence settled after she left, a sensual energy curling through the air. Mason fixed his gaze on Greta, but she didn’t know what to say. Especially since their kiss last night had shaken her world. Despite the fact she wanted to avoided short-term affairs, she’d given in to Mason. What was the harm in having one more before she settled down?