Misunderstanding Mason (10 page)

The idea of
any woman touching what Kirstin rightfully claimed as hers, sent rage coursing
through her veins. But the indignant retort that crept up her throat died on
the tip of her tongue as the thought of that poaching woman being Lisa
conflicted with all she had come to understand about her client. Throughout the
harrowing project Lisa did all she could to establish a bond of friendship.

“I don’t
believe I’m hearing this.” She pulled one hand free from Mason’s to rub at her
temple. “Why didn’t you say something then?” Damn him, if he had, Edge
Skateboard’s project wouldn’t have come between them. She’d have understood his
distance.

Mason’s grin
flattened into grave sincerity. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

Try as she
might to keep budding anger under control, it slipped into her veins anyway.
Hadn’t wanted to upset her—so he pulled away? “That was productive, wasn’t it?”
The bitter retort burst free against her will.

“Kirstin—”

“Are you
telling me this now because you’re afraid you’ll lose the income for my job?
Because you’re worried I might want to work for Steve?” She snatched her hands
back and bolted to her feet. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! That you’d
keep something that important to yourself!”

Mason’s jaw
tightened into a hard line, the only sign her words carried impact. But he made
no attempt to diffuse her anger, didn’t try to stutter an apology. His silence
took her right back to the point she’d been trying to make earlier and fueled
her temper.

“You shut me
out. This is exactly what I was talking about—you don’t involve me. You keep me
at bay, take me out of the cabinet when you want to play, and then put me back
on the shelf when work demands your attention.”

“That’s not—”

“You wanted
to know what expectations I was talking about? That’s a huge one. Mountainous.
And you’re incapable of letting me in.”

In a
surprising display of frustration, Mason shot to his feet. “I’m not!”

“No?” She
shook her head sadly. “Then why the hell did it take you two weeks to even
attempt asking me to come home? You shut me out there too. When you did finally
get around to it, it was too late. Your silence, your
refusal
to walk
across that lawn,” she thrust a hand toward the patio door, “and talk to me,
only proved how insignificant I am.”

“And you’re
the one who played the childish game of walking out to test me!”

Kirstin
blinked. She couldn’t remember the last time Mason yielded to such an emotional
explosion. The sheer shock of his furious retort deflated her own anger to a
far more manageable level. She took a deep breath. Held it as she counted to
ten.

Feeling more
in control, she stalked to the patio door. “It wasn’t a test. When I left, I
had every intention of never coming back. I wouldn’t have, if Lisa hadn’t
called.”

“And now that
Steve has?”

His quiet
question hinted at the deeper, childlike insecurities he harbored. The barely
disguised pain in his words, the nervous fear he tried to swallow, rang clear
as crystal despite his level tone. Her heart twisted into an agonizing knot.
She couldn’t bring herself to answer, to cut him deep and make him bleed.

Instead, she
opened the door and whispered, “I don’t know, Mason.” Stepping onto the patio,
she murmured, “We’ll talk after the launch.”

****

Struck dumb
by a fear more terrifying than any imprisoning nightmare, Mason watched Kirstin
disappear out the door. He was losing her. Really, truly losing Kirstin. And
God help him, he didn’t know how to stop this out of control roller coaster.

Didn’t know
if he
could
.

Or even
should.

They were so
mixed up and at odds. So removed from the closeness they’d shared for the five
most important years of his life. Maybe she was right—love wasn’t enough
anymore.

No.
He couldn’t
allow himself to believe that. He needed her too much to let her go without a
fight.

Raking a hand
through his hair, he found the ability to move and sagged into the recliner.
He’d made things worse by telling her about Lisa. But while he might be
clueless now and then, he wasn’t a complete Neanderthal. He heard loud and
clear what she’d said, and Kirstin needed words from him.

It made sense
now—the expectations, her claims she’d been alone. Logically, he didn’t
necessarily agree. She
could have
asked him to come to bed with her if
it bothered her so much. But logic and reason aside, her former innate ability
to understand him had morphed into a hunger for affirmation. Reassurance his
good intentions failed to deliver.

She believed
him incapable. In many ways, she was right. He simply didn’t know how to tell
her what resided in his heart. Showing through his actions had always been
easier. But that approach wouldn’t cut it now.

If he
intended to save the best five years of his life from imminent disaster, he had
to step up and meet her halfway. And he’d better figure out how, damn quick.
Before Steve Whitmore could seduce her with promises of career success. If that
happened, she’d yank the project, and the only safety-net Mason could cling to
would slip right through his fingers.

Chapter Nine

Arms over her
head, Kirstin tucked the final pearl-tipped pin into her loosely swept-up hair.
She dropped her hands, tipped her head to the side, and examined her attempts.
Not lopsided, thank goodness. So far, it was holding without the need of an
entire can of hairspray too. But her face looked pale and thin—evidence of the
long weeks away from Mason.

She used a
fingernail to loosen a tendril at the side of her face and add a little
fullness. Better.

Stepping
back, she rose on her toes to get a good look at the full picture. The
puffiness around her eyes had gone down; she no longer resembled one of the
living dead. Pink had never been a color she cared for. But the minute she’d
seen this rose-petal silk hanging in
Jocelyn’s
front window, she’d been
drawn like a moth to light. When she’d tried it on, it fit like someone custom
made it for her, and she’d known Mason would love it.

That she’d
found matching heels, instead of having to order the dyed variety, further said
she’d been meant to own this ankle-length gown. So pink it was, and tonight, in
the soft light of Theresa’s bathroom, the pastel silk de-emphasized the brittle
lines of worry that had etched into her face over the last year.

She looked
young. Innocent. Completely unaware of the troubles a heart could encounter.

Taking one
last minute to adjust the beaded halter straps that wound around her neck then
crossed to lift her breasts, she took a deep breath for courage. Tonight was
the last night she’d bask in Mason’s arms. No matter what came tomorrow, no
matter how final things were in the morning, she’d enjoy one more night with
him. She’d spent too many years at his side to have their goodbyes said on
bitter notes. She didn’t want to look back and remember all the negativity. She
wanted to be able to smile at wistful memories.

Tomorrow
though, she was leaving this neighborhood and going to her dad’s where she
should have taken refuge from the get-go. She hadn’t because she didn’t want
her father worrying. When she informed him that she and Mason had split, she
wanted to be able to follow the announcement up with news about her new
apartment, her steady job.

Her dad would
just have to take her word now. She couldn’t stay this close to Mason any
longer.

Kirstin
opened the door, flipped off the light, and stepped into the hall.

“Wow.” Sam
let out a long, low whistle that prompted Theresa to turn around and look over
the back of the couch. “Knock him out, kid.”

Laughing,
Kirstin wandered into the kitchen to calm her budding nerves with a glass of
white wine. As she poured, Theresa thrust her glass beneath the bottle. “Top me
off, would you?”

Kirstin
filled both, returned the bottle to the fridge, then picked up her glass and
drank deeply.

“Liquid
courage?” Theresa teased.

“Something
like that.”

Lowering her
voice so Sam couldn’t hear, Theresa asked, “How are you doing—really?”

Kirstin
shrugged. “It’s all so surreal, Lisa. I mean…good God. Who does that? It’s like
she was making good with me to get to Mason.” She let out a shaky laugh. “I
feel pretty stupid and naive. I’m thirty-two—I should have noticed something.
And I can’t believe Mason didn’t say a damn word.”

Theresa
chewed on her lower lip, her gaze sliding toward the couch, where Sam reclined
in front of the television. “I don’t know if he would have said anything
either.”

Chuckling,
Kirstin shook her head. “He tells you when he needs to clip his toenails. I
doubt he’d keep something like that quiet.” She took another sip of wine.
“Mason left me to work with that woman, knowing full well what she was like. He
didn’t even think it was important. It happened, he dealt with it, I didn’t
need to know. That’s not right.”

As tears
threatened once more, Kirstin bit down hard on her lower lip and rapidly
blinked them back. One drop worked its way free to trickle down her cheek. “Oh
damn,” she muttered.

“Okay.”
Theresa set her glass down with a bright smile. “No more of this. We don’t want
you melting before you get to the ball, princess.”

Kirstin
couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Come here.
I’ve got the perfect clutch to match that dress.” Grabbing Kirstin by the
wrist, she led her down the hall.

****

The alarm on
Mason’s watch emitted a high-pitched beep, alerting him that Kirstin would
arrive any minute. He hastily scrawled down another line in his speech, folded
the paper into quarters, and shoved it inside his tuxedo jacket.

Damn it. His
cuffs weren’t pinned, he couldn’t find his black bowtie, and he didn’t feel
anywhere near close to ready. For the last two hours, he’d worked on his
speech, ensuring he had exactly what he wanted to say put in a place his nerves
couldn’t possibly make him forget. The routine was the same before every launch
party. He worked on what he had to say in front of his peers until the very
last minute, when Kirstin rapped on his office door to alert him time was up.

Invariably,
he spent the next ten minutes dashing around the house pulling the rest of
himself together. Invariably, she had his bowtie tucked away somewhere he’d
never think of looking.

Damn, he’d
wanted to have his act together tonight.

Shoving out
of the chair, he hurried to the bedroom and fished cufflinks out of the
dresser. The little buttonholes refused to cooperate with the brass shanks, and
he dropped one. It rolled under the bed, forcing him to get on his hands and
knees and brave that formidable place of dust bunnies and other things he
couldn’t identify.

“Mason?”
Kirstin’s voice rang from the living room.

“Shit,” he
muttered. At that moment, his hand collided with the cufflink, and he closed
his fingers around it. He managed to stand, seconds before Kirstin’s voice
echoed down the hall.

“Mason?”

“Back here,”
he answered as he shoved the cufflink into place. One down, one to go. Good
God, he hated these formal dinners.

The
floorboards creaked as she entered the bedroom, and the subtle scent of kiwi
teased him with her presence. Caught off guard by the way his body suddenly
tightened, he bobbled the second cufflink and dropped it too. “Damn it.”

Kirstin’s
soft laugh diffused his jangled nerves, and he let out a deep breath. Just
another launch. Just another five-minute speech and thirty-minute
demonstration. He would survive, as he did every time.

Mason turned
around to retrieve his cufflink as Kirstin bent at the knees and picked it off
the floor. As she straightened, his breath caught. Rich silk, in a demure
rose-petal pink, highlighted her early summer tan. It clung to her upper body,
accenting the graceful curve of her narrow waist, before falling in loose folds
to the floor. She never failed to amaze him when she emerged from the bathroom,
her casual clothes exchanged for a lavish evening gown, her natural beauty
somehow magically transforming her into a breathtaking enchantress. But
tonight, that pretty pastel pink kicked him in the gut so hard he’d swear she
wasn’t real. The spark of arousal lit in his veins, spreading warmth throughout
his body. Beneath his loose tuxedo pants, his cock stirred against his thigh.

Oh, holy
hell. In less time than it took to draw in a breath, he was painfully hard and
aching to touch her. If things weren’t so weird between them, if he had half a
clue where their relationship stood, he’d say to hell with the launch and peel
her out of that silk, his speech be damned.

“Here,” she
said with an airy chuckle. “Let me.”