Misunderstanding Mason (18 page)

He
exhaled long and hard. “Yeah, it bothers me.” On a slow nod of acknowledgement,
he grabbed at the courage to continue with his honesty. “It stings pretty bad.
We’ve spent a lot of time together, shared a lot of things. No one should be
able to influence you when it comes to us.”

Her
shoulders shook, and she bit down on her lower lip. “I’m so sorry,” she
whispered.

“
But,
”
Mason continued. He hesitated, what he wanted to say suddenly feeling like
bricks on his tongue.
She didn’t hold back
,
you can do this too.

Yeah,
like he’d managed to not trip over everything at the end of his speech, he
could do this. He just needed to slow down. Don’t get caught up in how it might
sound. Spit it out nice and easy.

“But
you mean too much to me to let that destroy us. I need you, Kirstin. And while
I hate where we’ve been lately, we both learned some important things. It could
happen again—but I don’t believe it will.”

To
emphasize his complete conviction, he dipped his head and caught her mouth with
his. Slowly, thoroughly, he kissed her until he felt the tension leave her
body. When it did, and she began to participate more eagerly, the
all-too-familiar ache of want settled into his gut. Spread outward, through his
veins to pool at the base of his spine and fill his cock. He bit back the rush
of instantaneous desire, determined not to yield until they had completely
resolved this conversation. Until he found a way to slip back to the bedroom
and retrieve her mother’s ring.

Until
she agreed to become his wife.

Kirstin
eased the kiss to a lingering close. Content to bask in the warmth of her body,
the scent of kiwi in her hair, Mason kept his eyes closed and indulged in the
whole of Kirstin a little while longer.

When
he opened his eyes, he found her green gaze on him.

“If
you can forgive me, will you marry me, Mason?” She lifted something beneath his
chin.

Stuttering
unintelligibly, he leaned back and discovered she held her mother’s ring. Well,
hell, she’d stolen his thunder. Perturbed, he swiped the ring from her hand.
“Where’d you get that?”

“I
stepped on it in the hall. How’d it get there?”

“Oh.”
Heat crept into his cheeks. “I got a little drunk the other night. I must have
dropped it.”

A
teasing twinkle lit her eyes. “You lost my mother’s wedding ring?”

He
shot her an insincere frown. “I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t decided to move in
with Sam and Theresa.”

“Okay.”
She laughed. “I deserved that.” Her fingertips scored a pleasant burn down the
center of his chest. “You haven’t answered me.”

Mason
unceremoniously pushed her off his lap. “No. I won’t.” Jumping to his feet, he
extended his hand to help her up. “Come with me.”

Refusing
to give her time enough she could dwell on his answer and reach a negative
conclusion, he pulled her to her feet. Steal his thunder, he could accept. She
would not steal the one job that was rightfully his. Not to mention that ring
wouldn’t fit on his pinkie.

Not
that he supposed she really meant for him to wear it…but still. In sheer
principle of the matter, he would not have his wife retelling stories about how
she
proposed to
him.
Good God, his hang-up with verbalizing
emotions could only carry so much weight.

Mason
dragged a shuffling Kirstin down the dark hall and into his office where he
shook the mouse and brought his computer to life. He closed the window of the
dragon, exposing his desktop. Navigating through a series of folders and
subfolders, he clicked on the file he’d created after he spoke to her dad.

When
he discovered she was still standing behind him, staring at her feet, he let
out an exasperated mutter and steered her into the chair. “Watch.”

****

Kirstin
stared at the screen, more humiliated than ever. It had been foolish to think
Mason would agree to marriage so soon after she confessed to doubting him. He’d
been so open though, so accepting, so unbelievably Mason that she’d become...

Her
thoughts came to a slow stop as a majestic Pegasus, her favorite fantasy
creature, soared across the screen. As far as she knew, no project Mason ever
worked on included a winged horse of any kind.

It
circled on the screen, gradually descending into a graceful landing. As its
front hooves touched down, it bowed its regal head and stamped a foot. The
screen changed, illuminating with a photograph of her at her first—and
only—Renaissance Faire. Mason had dragged her to it. He’d even forced her to
dress up, as an elf no less. He’d snapped the photograph on his way from a long
line for turkey legs, when he caught her sniffing a wildflower she’d picked.

In
the corner of the screen, the Pegasus’s nose nudged the photograph. Like
turning pages in a book, the picture rolled, exposing a breathtaking, computer
animated reproduction of the photograph, in close-up of her face. Obviously accented
to emphasize elvish features, there was no mistaking it was her. Beneath the
beautiful imagery, the single word,
Na’Vayiel,
scrawled across the
screen. Kirstin’s heart kicked. His first project—
The Legend of Na’Vayiel.

At
the Pegasus’ prompting, the screen changed again, and another photograph of her
appeared. This one was at the park near their raggedy apartment. She’d been
playing fetch with the neighbors’ dog, a black lab named Boston.
Huh. Wonder
what happened to that mutt.

When
the delicate white nose nudged the corner of the photograph, the next picture
was computer generated again. A park, a girl with a dog standing behind a
lemonade vendor. The black lab looked on, tail poised mid-wag, and the dark
haired woman brandished a stick. Her again—her outfit was identical.

She
scanned the title that rolled across the bottom of the screen.
Intelligence
Wars—
the international spy-based game he’d spent six months designing for
Gamesquare.

Slowly,
she sat forward, watching the monitor with new interest. One by one, Mason
brought memories to life, combining pictures of her into an array of different,
startlingly life-like, computer representations. All of which corresponded to a
game he’d worked on, a side-project he picked up. The last of which portrayed a
beautiful Greek woman, who bore a startling resemblance to herself, and he had
titled,
Chalciope, Queen of Orchomenus
.

Then,
Mason’s computer went dark.

Kirstin
turned wide-eyes on him, not fully understanding why he put her into all his
designs, speechless that he had, and never said a word. He smiled, took her
hand, and slowly lowered himself to one knee.

As
what was about to happen smacked into her, her pulse jumped to life and tears
moistened her eyes. “Oh, Mason,” she whispered.

“I
told you, I couldn’t have done any of this without you. You’re my inspiration,
baby. My partner.” He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and emotion
filled his beautiful blue eyes.

Windows
to his soul.

“I
can’t imagine life without you. I don’t want that life, if it exists. You get
me. And you’re so much a part of me, it hurts sometimes. Scares me sometimes
too.” Shifting her hand, he poised her mother’s ring at the end of her
fingertips. “I know I’ve got my faults, but will you spend the rest of time
with me? Will you…” He swallowed with visible effort, and his voice roughened.
“Will you marry me, Kirstin?”

She
couldn’t speak through her tears and answered with a vigorous nod of her head.
Impatiently, she waited for Mason to slide the ring onto her hand. When it came
to a firm stop at her knuckle, she threw her arms around his neck and launched
out of the chair. “Yes,” she worked out of her tightened throat.

Mason’s
arms wound around her tight and fierce. He tucked his face into her shoulder
and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “I love you.”

“I
love you too, Mason.”

For
several never-ending minutes, he held her close, and she basked in his warmth.
Savored the tender caress of his gentle hands as they moved across her back.
Silence settled around them, as comfortable as the feel of his strong arms. She
pulled back, dusted a kiss over his mouth. He captured her lips, drawing her
into a stirring kiss that filled her senses with all of him. Familiar heat
built between them where their bodies touched, and the quiet moment filled with
intensity.

Mason’s
hand slipped beneath his jacket lapel to cover her breast. As he kneaded the
soft flesh there, he eased the kiss to a close and gazed into her eyes. “Shall
we go back to bed?”

Kirstin
gave him an impish smile and wriggled in his lap. Leaning forward she nipped
the sensitive skin along the side of his neck. “Only if you sleep in with me.”

His
chuckle was low and hearty. “How about I bring you breakfast in bed?” Nudging
her head sideways, he trailed the tip of his tongue across the hollow at the
base of her ear and provoked her into a shiver. “Bacon, eggs…” He drew her
earlobe between his lips and gently suckled. “Two cups of coffee.”

“Mmm…”
Kirstin ran her hands over his broad shoulders, admiring the taut muscle
beneath his bronzed skin. “And we can move my stuff back in after?”

“Oh,
yeah.”

She
dipped her hands between their bodies and ran a solitary finger beneath the
waistband of his boxers. “I think you should take me to bed.” Grazing her
fingertip across the smooth head of his erection, she murmured, “Unless you
really like the carpet.”

Laughing,
Mason looped an arm beneath her knees and eased to his feet. “Not particularly.
Though the coffee table was rather convenient.”

“Yeah,”
Kirstin murmured. “It was.”

With a soft
smile, she tucked her head against his shoulder and let out a sigh. He carried
her down the hall, into their bedroom, where he eased her onto the mattress.
She smiled up at him as he set one knee between hers, his hands pushing aside
his jacket, his gaze holding hers, conveying all the things she’d known in her
heart. His love. His devotion.

His long
ebony eyelashes lowered, and he dipped his head, capturing her mouth. He nudged
her lips apart, filling her with unspeakable emotion as the warm velvet of his
tongue slid against hers. She wound her arms around his neck, becoming lost in
his kiss. Lord, she loved this man. Never again would she make the mistake of
misunderstanding Mason.

She couldn’t,
when everything he did made his feelings so perfectly clear.

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