Misunderstanding Mason (11 page)

Before the
danger of her hands could connect with his brain and he could refuse, Kirstin
rotated his wrist and fastened the cufflink in place. Her fingertips burned
against the base of his wrist. He drew in an unsteady breath, only to become
intoxicated by the light fragrance of her fruity perfume. Lifting his other
hand, he reached for her waist.

His fingers
barely grazed the silk, and she stepped away. Silently cursing his folly, Mason
went to the closet to dig for his tie.

“It’s in the
nightstand.” Kirstin laughed as she sat on the edge of the bed. Reaching across
her body, she opened the drawer and pulled out the tie. “Here.”

In a flash,
how it had ended up in the nightstand came back to him. New Years. They’d both
been tipsy on champagne. They couldn’t leave Don’s party fast enough, and by
the time they hit the bedroom, naked hadn’t just been a desire, but a need. One
that burned so fierce undressing became impossible. She’d pulled off his tie
and tossed it aside before giving up and yanking at his belt. He’d broken her
zipper. They’d fallen into bed, a tangled mess of thirsting hands and mouths.
Still wearing his jacket, the long hem of her dress pushed up to her waist,
they’d made love in a frenzy.

Mason clenched
his teeth against a groan. He snatched the tie from her open palm and hurriedly
fastened it around his neck. Reliving those kinds of rendezvous wouldn’t make
surviving tonight any easier. Kirstin was here on a sheer technicality. He had
about as much chance of seeing her naked as he did winning the lottery.

He tugged on
the hem of his jacket and smoothed his pockets down. “Shall we?” To his ears,
his voice held a tremor.

Laughing
again, Kirstin shook her head as she slid off the edge of the bed. “You’re all
crooked.”

In a blink,
she was standing in front of him once more, her body so close the warmth of her
skin seared through his clothes. Nimble fingers straightened his tie, then slid
beneath his jacket, around his waist, to align his cummerbund. His belly jumped
beneath the tickle of her hands, and the tightness in his groin made him want
to wince.

Kirstin
flattened a palm in the center of his chest. Whether out of habit, or because
she wasn’t entirely immune to their close proximity, Mason couldn’t say. But
she tipped her head up and gave him a sweet smile that reached in and twisted
him inside out.

“There.” She
tapped her fingers on his sternum. “Handsome as ever.”

As regret
passed behind her eyes and dimmed her smile, Mason realized the accidental nature
of her actions. Habit. She didn’t know how to act any differently around him,
than he did her. They were so programmed to understand each other’s needs, so
tied together they didn’t know separate boundaries.

In that
instant, the idea that tonight might degenerate into another fight became
unacceptable. He clasped her hands in his, held them loosely between them. “I
don’t want to argue with you tonight. I just want to be you and me. I don’t
care about tomorrow, next week. Just tonight. Can we do that, Kirstin? Can you
give me one more night?”

****

Kirstin’s
stomach pitched so wildly, she couldn’t hold Mason’s searching gaze. She
glanced at their intertwined hands, the firm way his long fingers grasped hers.
He wanted the impossible. Not that the prospect of one night with Mason, their
issues set aside, didn’t sound promising. But they’d be surrounded by
everything that divided them. He was asking her to ignore all the things that
cut her into pieces, and at the same time, leading her into an environment
where she’d be forced to confront those obstacles.

He let go of
one of her hands to trail the back of his knuckles down her cheek. His husky
whisper washed over her skin. “You look beautiful.” Catching her chin between
thumb and forefinger, he tipped her gaze to his. “I miss you, baby.” Mason
swallowed visibly. “I miss us. It’s just a few hours—can we give it a try?”

Her heart
lodged between her ribs, slowly drumming to a stop.
Fresh eyes
. Mason
was reaching out in a way he never had. Because she’d called him on it?

Oh hell, what
did it matter? She wanted the fantasy as much as he did. She might be at the
end of her rope when it came to tolerating his insensitivity, but beneath all
the angst, all the misery, she still loved Mason. A few hours of pretending couldn’t
hurt half as much as the reality of where they’d come to after so many years
together.

Yet, there
was only one way that what he wanted could happen, and she didn’t know if he
could follow through. The minute he went off with his buddies and left her to
fend for himself, the blissful delusion would come to a screeching halt. Her
brow puckered as she squeezed his hand. “Don’t leave me in the corner, Mason.”

His frown was
sharp. The sharp jerk of his head, revealed puzzlement. “I’ve never—”

He paused,
and his expression softened. “You really want me hovering at your side?
Dragging you into conversations about resolving if-then loops and shadow
rendering?”

It sounded
foolish put so bluntly, but Kirstin’s eyes watered as emotion grabbed her by
the throat. Unable to speak, she nodded.

A slow,
heart-stopping smile spread across Mason’s handsome face. “Maybe I just won’t
have those conversations tonight.” He gave her cheek a playful shuck. “You said
you wanted me. Be careful what you ask for.”

Sliding his
hand around her shoulders to the small of her back, he guided her toward the
door. “Let’s get this shindig over with.”

Just for a
moment, Kirstin moved back in time. The gentle press of his fingers led her out
of the quagmire and escorted her back to the first Gamesquare launch party
they’d attended. He’d been so nervous about having to speak in front of the
crowd that he’d puked right when she finished threading his cufflinks—all over
the both of them. When they finished changing clothes, he found his humor, and
although they arrived late, they’d been laughing when they walked through the
banquet hall doors.

They’d come
home laughing as well.

Only tonight,
there’d be no amusement when they climbed out of the car, and the dinner that
had once been entertaining wouldn’t carry the same innocent humor. No matter
how many things they chose to overlook at the launch, two facts wouldn’t go
away. She had agreed to speak to Steve, and when they came home, she wouldn’t
say goodnight, but instead, goodbye.

At the
passenger door to the Jeep, Mason’s breath tickled her cheek. “Smile. I’ll be
right here.”

As he opened
the door and helped her inside, a different memory rose. Mason flopping into
his plaid recliner, a beer in one hand. He’d just suggested they move in
together.
I’ll be right here, all the time. You won’t have to call me when
the light bulb burns out and you can’t reach the light. And…
He lifted his
beer as if to toast his own wisdom.
I’ll never run out of razor blades again
because you’ve left your razor at home.

Kirstin
couldn’t help herself—she burst out laughing.

“What so
funny?” he asked as he slid behind the wheel and keyed the engine.

“That whole
razor blade thing didn’t work out for you so well, did it?”

Chuckling,
Mason dropped the Jeep into gear. His hand settled over hers. Strong fingers
gently squeezed.

Chapter Ten

Beneath the
St. Regis’s columned balcony, Mason turned the car over to the valet and
hurried to open Kirstin’s door. Her palm slid pleasantly into his, and she set
a dainty pink shoe on the ground. Smiling, she slowly stood. Overhead lighting
gave the beadwork that wove between her breasts and around her neck a brilliant
sparkle. Enchanting.

Fascinated by
the play of colors against her skin, Mason trailed one finger over her
collarbone, following the embellished strap to where it crossed in the middle
of her back. Guiding her ahead of him, his hand slipped lower, across the
smooth skin of her lower back, to rest against an identical strip of beading
just above her tailbone. Pride surged through him as he caught the bellhop’s
appreciative stare.

If she’d take
her hair down, Mason would be in heaven.

Maybe he
could take it down for her later tonight.

He checked
the thought with an inward curse. Even if they were pretending they hadn’t
spent the last two weeks apart, he couldn’t forget they had, and all the desire
in the world wouldn’t guarantee Kirstin would come home to their bed.

No sense
torturing himself with thoughts of just how entertaining those sparkles nestled
between her breasts could be. Instead, he yielded to a different, far more
simple temptation. He dipped his chin and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder.

Kirstin’s
breath caught audibly, and for a moment, Mason thought she might jerk away. To
his surprise, after briefly hesitating, she tipped her head and gave him a
playful wink. Stepping in closer to his side, she lowered her voice to a near
whisper and scolded, “No fair touching when I can’t.”

It was his
turn to lose his ability to breathe. Holy crap.
That
was the last thing
he expected to hear. Maybe a remark about how he should keep his hands to
himself, maybe even a brief reminder they weren’t really together. He’d have
accepted both, though they would have stung. But he hadn’t dreamed she’d flirt.

“Mason!”
Don’s voice boomed through the wide front hall.

Mason pivoted
to find Don making a beeline toward them. On his arm, Marie sauntered along
with a wide, but fake smile. The thought that rose each time Mason saw Marie
boomed through his head,
trophy wife.

He thrust out
his hand to accept Don’s hearty shake. “Evening, Don.” He nodded to Marie.
“Marie.”

“Ah,
Kirstin.” Don dropped Mason’s hand to take Kirstin’s. “You look lovely as ever.
It’s so nice to see you again.”

“Hi, Don.”
Her smile reflected genuine warmth, unlike the woman she gave a brief hug. “How
are you, Marie?”

Marie’s laugh
was as affected as her smile. “Waiting for champagne, it seems.”

“Sweetheart,
why don’t the both of you go on up to the banquet hall?” Don gestured at the
sweeping stairs. “Mason and I will be along in a little bit. I know how
business bores you.”

Mason
experienced a moment of brief panic. Less than five minutes in, and he had to
navigate the one thing Kirstin requested. Her gaze jumped to his, mistrust
flickering behind long dark eyelashes. Shit, he’d told her he wouldn’t have
these conversations tonight. But Don was his boss…

No. He
contracted for Don. He was his own boss. And he had more than enough money in
the bank to live on if this went to shit.

Mason slipped
his arm around Kirstin’s waist and flashed a smile at Don. “You know, Don, I’m
on a date tonight.”

A raspy
chuckle set off twinkling grey eyes, and Don gave Mason an irascible grin. “I’d
hate to be the one to chain a man in the doghouse.” He pumped Mason’s hand
again. “You two go on. Marie and I saved you a seat at our table.”

As far as
Mason was concerned, a table for two in the bistro to his left would suit just
fine. They could share a bottle of expensive wine. He could feed her lemon
soufflé for dessert. Christ Almighty, he wanted out of this place. She’d given
him one night. Spending it with a room full of computer programmers, graphical
designers, and corporate big wigs was the last place on earth he’d like to be.

Kirstin
reached behind her and took hold of his hand. With a gentle tug, she led him
toward the stairs, spoiling his brief fantasy about corner tables and moonlight
gardens and lemon soufflé. Falling into step behind her, he guided her up the
sweeping staircase that resembled something from Gone With the Wind, and led
her to the Ascot Ballroom. Noise filtered out the open doors, laughter, the
dull rumble of conversation, tinkling glass. With the familiar din, an even
more familiar quiver took up residence in his gut. Nerves. Uncomfortable,
incapacitating nerves.

Innately sensing
his discomfort, Kirstin stopped in front of the wide-open doors to hell and
shook her hand loose. Turning around, she hooked her index fingers in his belt
loops, and as she’d done since their first Gamesquare launch, she tugged his
body closer to hers. Close enough that when she rose on her toes, her breasts
scraped his jacket lapels. Her hips grazed his, stirring his senses into acute
awareness. Then, completely obliterating his ability to think, her lips brushed
his.

****

Stop. What
are you doing?

Kirstin
closed her eyes on the screeching voice inside her head and settled her mouth
against Mason’s. She was kissing him, that’s what she was doing, and she didn’t
give a damn who saw, what he thought, or how complicated it might make things.
Two and a half years, six launch parties—not one had passed where she hadn’t
kissed him to take his mind off the terror of giving a speech.

She told
herself she did it for his sake, not because she simply couldn’t tolerate
another minute of ignoring the pleasant friction of his hand against the small
of her back. That he needed the distraction, and her impulse had nothing to do
with the soul-deep hunger his cologne aroused. He’d followed through with her
by excusing himself from Don, now it was her turn to repay the favor.