Best Of Makeovers Bundle Part 95

She half expected him to laugh at her. That's what most hot, hunky men would have done when faced with such a request. But Mason didn't so much as crack a smile. Instead, he stared at her long and hard as if searching for something before he finally shrugged again and turned.

Charlene didn't waste a precious moment. She hit the stairs running and didn't stop until she'd reached her bedroom. Leaning back against the closed door, she drew a deep breath and tried to calm her pounding heart.

Mason McGraw was really here, in the flesh, right now.

The truth galvanized her into action and she raced to the closet, straight to the new outfits she'd purchased earlier that day.

She retrieved a neon green miniskirt and skimpy white tank top and tugged them both on. Then, before she could think about how uncomfortable she felt in the revealing clothes and dive into a pair of cover-everything-up sweats, she headed back downstairs.

While she didn't feel comfortable, she couldn't very well face Mason McGraw looking like a groupie.

That would be as bad as the time she got caught in her Hee Haw underpants. That humiliating moment was enough for a lifetime.

Besides, if she truly intended to fool Stewart with her new appearance, she needed to get used to her new clothes.

Now was as good a time as any to start.

"Where's the birdhouse?" he asked her when she found him in the living room a few minutes later.

"Excuse me?"

He held up a book he'd pulled from her ma.s.sive collection. How To Build Your Own Birdhouse in Four Easy Steps.

"I haven't actually built one."

"Why not?"

"I don't have the time. During the semester, it's all I can do to eat and sleep. During the summer break, it's almost just as bad. I don't actually have cla.s.ses, but there's a lot of work in preparing for the new semester."

"What about surround sound?" He held up How To Customize Your Own Surround Sound System.

"Not yet."

He held up another book. "Have you braided your own rug?"

"No."

"Baked homemade bread?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Made your own jelly?"

"No. I told you, I'm really busy."

"You don't do any of these things, but you read about doing them."

"I like knowing things."

"Seems pointless to me if you're never going to use the knowledge."

It did to her, too, now that she heard him say the words. A wasted effort. Like all the years she'd spent l.u.s.ting after Mason McGraw while he'd paid her absolutely no attention. Like the way she'd rushed up the stairs to change just to impress him.

She dismissed the notion. The clothes weren't for him. They were for her. The woman she was transforming herself to be.

"I really wasn't expecting anyone." She busied herself gathering up the magazines that she had spread out on the coffee table. She stacked the clippings and scissors off to the side near the magazines before turning to find that Mason had s.h.i.+fted his attention from her bookshelf to the pictures that lined the mantel.

"Your folks?" He indicated the one and only wedding picture her mother had kept.

"Once upon a time."

"They look really happy."

"They do, don't they?" She came up beside him and studied the picture that had been sitting on the mantel for as long as Charlene could remember. "I guess that just goes to show that looks can be deceiving. One minute everything seemed fine and the next, they were getting a divorce. But then it only stands to reason. They were too different. You have to have common ground for a marriage to work."

"Is that what you teach your college students?"

"As a matter of fact, it is."

"My parents had plenty of common ground and their marriage didn't work."

"Your parents didn't get a divorce," she added.

"True. They were married right up until my mother died, but they weren't really married. My father cheated and my mother looked the other way. The only time they ever actually spent together was on the back of a horse." At her questioning glance, he said, "That was their common ground. The horses. The ranch. That was it." He eyed the picture of her parents, their arms wrapped around each other. "There was no fire between them."

"You think that would have made a difference?"

His deep, green gaze met hers. "I know it. It's all about the fire that burns between a man and woman. The hotter, the better. That's what keeps a marriage together."

"It didn't keep my parents together. My mother's down in Florida and my father lives in Pennsylvania. They avoid each other like the plague."

"Maybe it hurts too much to see something you can't have."

"Or maybe the fire fizzled and they just can't stand the sight of each other."

His gaze s.h.i.+fted back to the picture. "They definitely look like two people who can't stand each other. If they were any closer, he'd be wearing that wedding dress."

"Back then." She eyed the young couple and blinked back the sudden tears that stung her eyes. "When I was little, I remember them cuddling and kissing on the couch every night like a couple of teenagers." The memories played in her head and she smiled for a brief moment. "But then one day it just stopped. I came home to find that my dad had packed his things and left. My mother didn't seem the least bit surprised. I heard her crying that night-every night, actually, for the next few months-but for the most part, she seemed okay with it." Her throat tightened, but then she felt the warm press of Mason's fingers and she managed to swallow.

"Doesn't sound like fizzling to me," Mason said after a long moment.

"What do you mean?"

"Fizzling is something that happens slowly." He let his hand fall away from her. "One day he forgets to kiss her goodbye. The next day she stops holding his hand while they watch television. The next he stops holding the door open for her. The next she stops making his favorite dinner. They both get older and they drift apart. I think that's what happened with Aunt Lurline and Uncle Eustess. They fizzled. But in your parents' case, it sounds like their fire-" he motioned to the picture, "-got snuffed out."

The possibility lingered in her mind as Mason turned his attention to the next photograph.

Snuffed out meant something sudden and unexpected and monumental had happened, like an extramarital affair or the death of a child. Something big enough to kill the fierce attraction her parents used to have for each other. But there'd been no major event in the Singer household. One minute they'd liked each other and the next, they'd been in court claiming irreconcilable differences.

Which meant Mason McGraw didn't have a clue what he was talking about.

That's what she told herself. The trouble was, she wasn't quite sure she believed it.

"I didn't know you played for the girls' basketball team the year we went to the state play-offs." Mason's voice drew her attention from her conflicting thoughts and she stared at the framed 5x7 of a tall, awkward girl in a green Romeo Rangers basketball uniform.

"I didn't actually play. I sprained my wrist during practice. I was decent at dribbling and pa.s.sing the ball, but I could never actually shoot it. Two left hands."

"What?"

"The coach said I had two left hands when it came to hitting the net. I was really awkward and uncoordinated."

"You obviously grew out of it." His gaze roamed over her and if she hadn't known better, she would have sworn she saw a glimmer of appreciation.

But she knew better. He was Mason McGraw, after all. Her fantasy.

"I'm really not prepared for the hairstyle discussion tonight." Eager to change the subject, she motioned to the coffee table and the stack of magazines and clippings. "I wanted to have at least a dozen samples to choose from."

"How many do you have?"

"Five. Look, if you're too busy tomorrow, we could do it the following day..." she said, but he'd already settled himself on her couch.

"Five's plenty," he told her. He reached for the small stack and leafed through them.

"See anything that might work?" she finally asked, perching on the edge of an armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table. The dark cherry wood surface separated them, putting enough s.p.a.ce between them that she was no longer overwhelmed by the warm pull of his body.

Mason stared at the samples and shook his head. "These are too high maintenance."

"That's okay. I don't mind putting in the time. I know I'll have to, if I want to make this work." When he glanced up, a questioning look on his face, she added, "You've heard of a bad hair day? For me, it's more like a bad hair decade."

He grinned. "What's wrong with your hair?"

"It's straight. Very straight. Meaning, I have to use a load of rollers and lots of hairspray to get it to look any other way but straight. It wouldn't be a problem, except I don't do rollers and hairspray very well."

"So why did you pick out these styles?"

"I figured I could take the picture over to the Hair Saloon. I'll let them fight with the rollers and hairspray."

"I hate to break it to you, but there's nothing s.e.xy about rollers and hairspray."

"Are you trying to tell me that one of the major requirements of being a daring diva isn't having a can of Aqua Net and knowing how to use it?"

He grinned. "Maybe for the wannabes in this town. But I think you need something a little different."

"As in?" A different head, a voice whispered. Along with a different body.

But even as the doubts rolled through her, she didn't believe them the way she usually did. Not with him looking at her so intently.

Wanting her.

Yeah, right. She tried to dismiss the thought, but she couldn't. Not this time.

"Real divas don't tease and spray their way to s.e.xy." He pushed to his feet and walked around the couch.

Before she could draw her next breath, he came up behind her and his strong fingers went to the clasp of her ponytail. He tugged the fastening loose and let her hair spill down around her shoulders.

"They work with what they have." His deep voice slid into her ears. "It's about relaxing and cutting loose." He threaded his fingers through her hair and ma.s.saged her scalp. "You're not relaxed."

"No, but if you keep doing that, I'm sure I'll get there."

His laugh was warm and almost as lulling as his hands. He continued to ma.s.sage her and she closed her eyes. She actually relaxed for the next few moments and forgot all about her doubts. Instead, she focused on the bubbles of warmth that rippled along her skin and the mesmerizing way he kneaded her scalp.

"There," he finally said, his deep voice pulling her back to reality long enough for her to open her eyes. "I think this works."

She pushed to her feet and walked over to the small mirror that hung on a nearby wall. Her reflection stared back at her, her pale blond hair long and unkempt, as if she'd just rolled out of bed. But even more than her hair, it was the flush to her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes that made her look s.e.xy and wanton and...daring.

"I can promise you it won't stay this way without at least a half can of hairspray," she argued.

"Being a real diva isn't about what you look like." He came up behind her. "It's the att.i.tude."

"I know that's part of it, but I want to get the looks and the moves-"

"Att.i.tude is all of it," he broke in. "It's about turning loose your inhibitions and going with what you feel inside. If you want to kiss me, you should stop thinking about it and just do it."

She caught his stare in the mirror. "Who says I want to kiss you?"

"Do you?" His gaze seemed to stare straight through her, past all the doubts.

No. The lie was there in her head, but with him staring at her, into her, she couldn't seem to push it past her lips.

She shrugged. "Maybe I do, but it doesn't matter because I'm not going to."

"Then I guess I'll just have to kiss you." Before she could protest, he whirled her around and his mouth covered hers.

10.

MASON'S TONGUE swept and plundered Charlene's mouth as he pulled her close. He tasted of sweet tea and warm male and...yum.

For the next few moments, she forgot her disbelief that he really and truly wanted her. He felt too hard and hot and right, and so she kissed him back.

She opened her mouth and tangled her tongue with his. Her arms curled around his neck and she pressed herself up against him.

His hands swept down to cup her bottom and rub her against the hard bulge of his jeans. "Charlie, you feel so good," he murmured against her lips. "So d.a.m.ned good." He kissed her again, hard and hot and deep.