Misunderstanding Mason (14 page)

Tears
brimmed. The one time Mason needed her, she let him down. Utterly and
completely failed to deliver.

The
familiar scent of cigars and whiskey preceded a strong hand on her shoulder.
She glanced up at Don’s dark frown.

“Is
something wrong with Mason, Kirstin? I’ve never seen him deliver a presentation
so…” He flinched as Mason stumbled over another word. “Terribly.”

In
dire need of a life support, Kirstin clutched Don’s hand. “Yeah,” she
whispered. “He hates to speak in public, and he doesn’t know I’m here.”

Salt
and pepper eyebrows shot into Don’s thinning hairline. “He’s done a marvelous
job every time before.”

“That’s
because he talks to me.”

Understanding
smoothed Don’s tight brow seconds before he winced. “Thank God he’s almost
done.”

“He
is?” On one hand, relief flooded through her that she didn’t have to cringe
through a long speech. On the other, guilt weighed her down. He’d struggled
through the whole horrific thing while she’d been sitting in the lounge.

Don
nodded at the blank projector screen. “The demo’s over.”

The
paper in Mason’s hands crinkled. He looked up, over the top of the podium, at
something on the wall Kirstin couldn’t see. With a deep breath, he closed his
eyes. When he opened them again, his voice held more confidence. The nervous
tremor lingered, but his stuttering stopped, and he no longer required the aid
of his hand written script.

“
Rise of
Orchomenus
wouldn’t
have been possible if it weren’t for the support of the most amazing woman I’ve
ever known, Kirstin Jones. She was the inspiration behind the character design
of Chalciope, and I’d like to thank her for her endless patience over the last
five years. I couldn’t have done this without her.”

Tears
that had pooled in Kirstin’s eyes slid down her cheeks.

Chapter
Twelve

Kirstin
stayed near the doors while Mason descended the stairs and accepted the hands
that reached out to pump his. She ached to go to him, but for the first time in
her life knew how it felt to have fear incapacitate her. She couldn’t bear the
glinting fury in his eyes, would break down in front of everyone if he greeted
her with the waspish response she deserved.

He made a
beeline for their seats, drained his champagne in one gulp, and turned around
as Don clasped a hand on his shoulder to say something near his ear. Mason’s
gaze jumped across the heads gathered at the long table, landing straight on
her. He nodded at whatever Don said.

Embraced him
in a handshake-shoulder-pound hug.

Then Mason
edged around Don, and with her clutch dangling from his hand, headed for where
she was standing.

The need to
run bore down on her hard. She had never disappointed someone so fully, or been
so worthy of a scathing lecture. But she couldn’t bolt. Let alone she didn’t
have any place to hide, she wasn’t a child, and she’d stand and take the licks
she deserved.

Swallowing
hard, she held his steely gaze and willed the racket behind her ribs to subside.

When Mason
arrived, he pushed the beaded purse into her hands. “Can we go now?”

Kirstin
nodded. She’d much rather face her executioner in private. But the journey to
the car, never mind the wait for valet, would be sheer hell.

Sweeping a
hand ahead of him, Mason gestured at the door. He didn’t usher her along with
gentle pressure at the base of her spine. Didn’t reach for her hand. She
cringed inwardly—definitely not a good sign if he’d lost the desire to touch
her.

She forced
her feet to move and pushed open the heavy doors. Mason followed, giving her
the surreal feeling she wasn’t just being escorted to the gallows, but was
forced to take herself there of her own will. Somehow, she descended the stairs
without tripping. Somewhere, she found a polite smile for the doorman.

While they
waited for the Jeep, she turned the clutch over and over. In five years of life
with Mason, she’d never seen him so absolutely silent. From the corner of her
eye, she studied his face, dread resurfacing at the harsh line of his jaw, the
unyielding press of his mouth.

Damn it, she
couldn’t take the silence any longer. “Mason, I—”

His gaze cut
sideways, and he looked at her from the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t turn
his head. The harsh light in those icy blues silenced her in a heartbeat.

“Never mind,”
she whispered.
I heard your speech. I’m sorry.
Even as she thought it,
she knew sorry wouldn’t fix this easily.

He shifted
his weight to his toes, then rocked back on his heels. When the Jeep rolled to
a stop at the curb, he jerked open her door, waited long enough for her to sit,
then slammed it shut before rounding the front bumper and climbing in on the
driver’s side. His door shut with equal force.

Kirstin held
her breath while she prepared for his explosion.

Instead, Mason
merely dropped the Jeep into gear and steered down the drive.

So this was
how their last night together would end. Not on positive memories, not with the
comfortable closeness they’d enjoyed before she left the banquet to talk to
Steve. She supposed it shouldn’t make a difference—come tomorrow, for that
matter when they said goodbye tonight, they would have been on permanently
separate paths anyway. Tonight had been nice, but they were play-acting. He
might have excused himself from business conversations, he might have been
wicked on the dance floor. That couldn’t continue indefinitely. He’d modified
his natural behavior for one night, because she’d asked him to.

She held in a
bitter sigh. As long as Mason did things only because she requested them, not because
he genuinely felt the need to include her as his partner in all things, the
beauty they’d briefly known tonight would wither and die. They’d be right back
where they were going into this evening, sooner than later.

But try as
she might, Kirstin couldn’t stop her heart from twisting. Nor could she tamp
down the heavy wave of regret that broke over her shoulders. Damn it, she’d
spoiled what had been the best night in a long time.

Maybe the
best night with Mason ever.

“I’m sorry,”
she whispered into the dark stillness.

Mason’s
repositioned his hands on the steering wheel. His gaze flicked to her for all
of a millisecond, then fastened on the road once more.

****

Once again,
words failed Mason. Only this time, it wasn’t because he didn’t know what to
say—he didn’t know what to say
first.
He knew exactly what he wanted to
tell Kirstin. She’d stranded him. Abandoned him in the worst way possible.
Sure, he’d survived, but the presentation had been a disaster. One he hoped no
one would remember.

Problem was, addressing
that issue left him wide open for her to turn the tables and remind him of the
many times he’d done the same damn thing to her. When he realized how good it
felt to spend so much time with her at a launch, he also recognized he
did
have a habit of excusing himself to discuss business. While Kirstin was no
social wallflower, she didn’t know these people. Her field crossed into theirs,
but even her line of work didn’t give her much common conversational ground.
Which left her to talk to Don, or Marie, or a very slim handful of other people
she’d grown comfortable with.

Most of who
were the same people who were dragging him off in the first place.

Bringing up
her disappearance, right when he most needed her presence, bordered on
hypocritical.

A larger
matter plagued him, however, one more frightening than standing in front of a
crowd and looking like a buffoon. Kirstin had missed his presentation because
she was speaking with Steve. Steve Whitmore, who held the power to drag her
away and shred the last bit of fraying rope that held them together.

Hell, for all
he knew she might already be gone. Steve probably presented her with dollar
amounts and designs that exceeded the likely realm of what she’d be doing, and
Kirstin, who at times was too trusting of people to realize their selfish
natures, had accepted his proposal. The idea made Mason feel like someone put
boulders on his chest. He couldn’t breathe around it. Couldn’t escape.

He ached to
ask, yet at the same time, couldn’t bring himself to open the door on that
finality. If she’d said yes, he didn’t want to know.

Mason
navigated around a sharp corner and stared at the dark asphalt in front of the
headlights.

Fuck!
He thumped
the base of his palm on the wheel. Had she heard
any
of his speech? Like
the part where he’d designed the character
Chalciope
after her? True, he’d added in the thank you after their argument this
afternoon. But if she stopped to think, she’d realize he couldn’t possibly have
altered an entire portion of a game that was already in production, just to
appease her.

For
that matter, if Kirstin shared his love for gaming, she would realize she had
made it into his projects on more than one occasion. As a commoner the player
needed to speak to, once as a powerful elven maiden, even her name in the first
major project Don offered—she’d been there. He hadn’t told her, didn’t really
see the need. Didn’t think it would mean anything to her, to be honest.

Now,
he wished he had.

Their
house loomed at the end of the road, lights on, warm and inviting. Only, he’d
never dreaded entering it as much as he did right now. He hurt, inside and out,
and he didn’t know how to make it stop. They’d had such a perfect night
together. Why,
why
had she felt it necessary to talk to Steve?

The
answer thumped him in the gut.
Because they were pretending.

Well,
he wasn’t, everything he’d done tonight came from the heart. But he’d even
given her permission to pretend. Asked her to.

As he
pulled into the driveway, the sudden, violent need to vomit rose. He turned off
the engine, set his elbow on the steering wheel, and rested his forehead in his
hand. Beside him, Kirstin shifted position.

Seconds
ticked by while he focused on his breathing to stop the angry churning in his
gut. He
had
planned to show her Chalciope. After this very launch, when
he got down on one knee and did what he’d never envisioned himself doing—asked
her to marry him. Yet tonight, he wasn’t walking through that door to celebrate
the beginning of forever. He’d go inside, and no matter how he stalled, the
outcome would be the same. Kirstin would walk out their patio door.

If
she intended to stay, she never would have left him to navigate a presentation
alone.

“Mason?”
she asked quietly.

“I
need a minute.” An eternity wouldn’t make facing what came next any easier.

The
dome light hurt his eyes as she opened the door. “I’ll wait inside.”

Mason
nodded.

****

Kirstin
let herself into their house. She looked around, remembering the first time she
walked through the front door, hand in hand with Mason, the realtor jangling a
fist-full of keys. Two steps in, and she knew it was perfect. She’d already
made her mind up before they reached the hallway. Her gaze stopped on the
mahogany flooring, the contrast between the dark wood hallway and the light
taupe carpeting in the living room still every bit as breathtaking as it had
been then.

This
was so not how she’d expected tonight to end. She didn’t quite know
what
she’d anticipated, but Mason sitting in the car, angrier than she’d ever seen
him, and her wandering through their house feeling very much like a stranger,
wasn’t it.

If
he’d yell at her, she could better cope. Why he wasn’t, she didn’t understand.
Sure, opening up wasn’t exactly his forte—caterpillars could express more
emotion than Mason—but it wasn’t like him to clam up completely. Little things
clued her in. He’d slam something on his desk. Mutter something beneath his
breath that he didn’t want her to hear but knew she had. Flip on the sarcasm
when he was really annoyed.

Absolute
silence? Totally unlike Mason.

Kirstin
wandered into the living room and leaned her elbows on the countertop. Maybe
this was punishment—Lord knew she didn’t deserve an easy way out of this. She
stared at the sink, debating a glass of water. But it somehow seemed
inappropriate to wander in and make herself at home. She’d left this place.
Surrendered it to Mason. She wouldn’t help herself to cupboards in Don and
Marie’s house.

Fuck
it. Mason was already pissed as hell. Might as well add a little more fuel to
his fire.

Shoving
off the countertop, she entered the kitchen and pulled a glass from the
cabinet. As she turned the sink on, the front door thumped closed. Mason
stopped just beyond the entry to the living room. He tossed his keys on the
coffee table. Still not bothering to look at her, he eased out of his tuxedo
jacket and dropped it onto the back of a leather recliner.