Misunderstanding Mason (2 page)
Damn it.
Where the hell did she get off? She’d walked out. Wasted five years of his
life. Two where they might as well been living together, one in a hellhole
barely worth their meager rent, and two in this house. Their dream house. Now she
had the audacity to ask him to help her with a project? A project that belonged
to Lilith reincarnate?
“I can’t do
it alone, Mason. She wants an interactive for an app. And Lisa—pain that she
is—pays well.”
Her problem.
Not his. He’d offered to split their savings to humor her. She ought to have
taken him up on it two weeks ago. He turned back toward his open office door.
“I’m obligated, Kirstin.”
“Why doesn’t
that surprise me? You’re always too damn busy.”
Her words cut
through him like a knife. True, he worked late hours and sometimes became
obsessed with a project, but despite her claims, he’d never been too busy for
her. She’d just stopped asking. Probably around the time she stopped loving
him.
Ignoring the
painful sting, he continued down the hall.
“She’s going
to send the prototype to my email address. Would you at least print it off for
me and bring it over?”
“Yeah.” Mason
closed the door, blocking her out. He dropped into his leather chair and stared
at the 2-D rendition of a dragon on his computer screen. It needed more shading
on the belly, deeper reds across the spines. He picked up his electronic pen
and tapped it on the green color selector. A bit more green along the tail…
You’re always
too damn busy.
Fuck.
He slammed
the pen down, shoveled both hands through his hair, and squeezed his eyes shut.
She’d said the same thing when she walked out their patio door. If words
existed that could make someone feel love, he’d spew every one of them. But he
couldn’t fix the fact Kirstin didn’t love him. He might have been able to undo
whatever wrongs he’d committed, might have been able to change his schedule so
they had more time together. Now, effort, words, and grandiose gestures were
meaningless. He’d missed the train somewhere.
And that Lisa
bitch had started it all. Edge Skateboards survived on her husband’s marketing
skills, not any genius on Lisa’s part. Beyond all her numerous business
failings, the woman’s morals echoed the tenants of Lucifer. Last summer, she’d
propositioned Mason less than three feet away from her husband and Kirstin.
Whatever else she’d done broke something beyond repair.
Mason
reclined in his chair and stared out the window. What had happened? This simply
couldn’t be real. Kirstin knew him better than he knew himself sometimes. How
did five years of that kind of closeness just fall apart overnight?
The chime on
his computer alerted him to new email, and he flipped over to their joint
account. Sure as shooting, the letter Kirstin mentioned had arrived. Hating it
more than he hated the sender, he opened the file and glanced at the attached
color photo of a neon green and orange skateboard. Mumbling, he hit the print
button.
Help her.
No way in
hell. All repulsion about Lisa aside, Kirstin wanted out—she was in this on her
own. He would not
give
her the means to run away without a backward
glance. If she wanted his aid, she’d have to pay him like every other client.
He ought to charge her double for the headaches Lisa Bennet would bring.
Pulling his
chair closer to the screen, Mason opened a new window and set the printout on
his upright easel. He picked up his pen, dabbed it in a matching orange swathe.
First things first—transpose the photo to a format he could manipulate.
Chapter Two
At the sound
of husky laughter, Kirstin looked up from her makeshift design table tucked
into the corner of Sam and Theresa Roberts’ living room. Across the wide entry,
Sam looped his arm around his wife and pulled her into the crook of his side.
Television drama temporarily forgotten, he drew Theresa into a lingering kiss.
Kirstin’s
heart twisted. Twelve years together, and they still carried on like lovestruck
teens when they thought she wasn’t looking. They’d found glue she and Mason
didn’t know how to mix.
A sharp rap
on the patio door in the kitchen startled her out of her melancholy thoughts.
Mason!
She rose at the same time as Theresa. “I’ll get it, Theresa. Mason’s supposed
to bring something over.”
“Feel up to
inviting him in?” Sam asked as Theresa settled back into the couch, his arm
around her shoulders once more. “I want to ask him about my grill.”
This was the
part Kirstin hated most—super-imposing her issues on her friends. To keep them
from feeling like they needed to choose sides when Mason would be the one
remaining behind, she did her best to remain amicable. Even if seeing him made
sleeping impossible.
“Sure,” she
answered robotically. Her legs were leaden as she trudged the ten feet to the
door. But when her eyes caught his through the thick glass, her pulse drilled
into triple time, making her hand shake. She fumbled with the lock, swore
beneath her breath, and rolled the door open.
Mason held up
one hand, the color photograph of a skateboard dangling between thumb and index
finger. “Mail call.”
Doing her
best to hide the trembling of her fingers, she snatched the photo and clutched
it with both hands. “Thanks. Come on in, Sam wants to talk to you.”
As he passed
her, the clean scent of soap filled her nose. She breathed deep, savoring the
aroma, picturing the way his dark hair clung to his head, just grazing his
shoulders, in the shower. God, she missed him. Even if he was a disaster to her
heart.
Kirstin took
the photograph to her card table and returned to the kitchen. “Can I get you
some tea, Mason?”
He turned
around as if her simple question surprised him. The faintest hint of a smile
graced his mouth. “Sure.” His gaze lingered a heartbeat too long before he
turned and greeted Sam with a hearty handshake. But it had touched her long
enough to sear her from the inside out.
Maybe he
wasn’t totally indifferent.
She choked
the thought aside. Going there wouldn’t accomplish anything. She’d invest in
him again, only to discover another year from now that he appreciated her as
much as he did his old plaid recliner. He wouldn’t part with the thing, but
he’d moved it into the basement when he’d become obsessed with newer, more
modern furniture.
Resolved to
ignore him, she filled a glass with ice and poured his tea, adding two
spoonfuls of sugar to sweeten it the way he liked it. As she set the spoon back
in the sugar bowl, it dawned on her what she’d done, the automatic way she knew
exactly what he liked. Oddly, she couldn’t count a single time where he’d
remembered to dump in the extra spoonful of sugar she preferred. Every time he
brought her tea—hot or cold—he sweetened it the way
he
drank it.
Sighing,
Kirstin picked up his glass and took it onto the back deck where Mason and Sam
poured over the grill. “Here you go.”
He looked up,
and those icy blue eyes connected with hers. Only this time they weren’t so
glacier as they drifted down her midriff top, lingered at the waist of her
low-rise shorts, touched her thighs, then jerked back up to lock on her eyes
once more. A touch of white fire glinted in his eyes before he deliberately
turned back to the grill.
Kirstin set
the glass on the patio table and returned inside, determined to ignore his
thorough perusal. The bedroom had never been their trouble. Just because Mason
knew how to devour her with a single glance didn’t mean he wanted her—well, for
anything other than great sex. She’d been guilty of appreciating him earlier,
and it didn’t mean she wanted to crawl back home and pick up where they’d left
off.
She sat back
down at her table and picked up the photograph. How in the world was she ever
going to accomplish this job? With Mason unwilling to help, that left one other
option—hire out the work. Problem was, the going rate for app design exceeded
the zero balance in her non-existent savings account.
Time passed
in a vacuum as she stared at the photo, mentally going through a redundant list
of options and people she knew in the graphical design world. Before she
realized she’d disappeared into a private oasis of mental solitude, a shadow
dimmed her tabletop, and Mason’s warm voice was at her ear.
“I have a
working prototype on the tablet at home if you want to see it.”
She blinked,
certain she’d heard wrong, that his statement was a product of her wishful
thinking. But his deadpan expression made it impossible to question her
hearing. “You’re serious?”
He nodded. “I
reconsidered.”
Elation
surged through her, and Kirstin found herself fighting the overwhelming urge to
throw her arms around his neck and hug the life out of him. “Oh, Mason,” she
murmured. “Thank you.”
Straightening
to his full six-foot two height, he gave her a shrug. “Work’s work. You know my
rate.”
All the joy
that had swelled inside her heart plummeted out her toes, hollowing her insides
out. She stared, unable to believe his self-satisfied smirk and laughing eyes
were real.
Mason set his
hand on her shoulder, gave it an affectionate squeeze. “You know how to reach
me.”
Before she
could splutter a sensible response, he strode out the door and down the deck
stairs. Dumbfounded, she stared after him. Pay him? He wanted her to pay him
when he knew she couldn’t afford to feed herself? That big, insensitive, jerk!
****
Mason dusted
his hands off on his jeans and stared at the orange plaid recliner he’d lugged
out of the basement. It was really an ugly thing. He’d stuffed it away when they’d
gotten newer, better furniture so Kirstin wouldn’t have to look at the falling
apart beast. So she wouldn’t be embarrassed by its dilapidated appearance when
she held meetings with clients in their front room.
Now, he
intended to relish the security it offered. The only piece of furniture he
alone owned—the first piece of furniture he’d purchased the day he embarked for
college—it was like Linus’ blanket. Beyond the stains, beyond the fraying
seams, this chair had been with him through everything.
He’d even
made love to Kirstin on their first date in the damn thing.
But he wasn’t
thinking about that now. He was relaxing, and he dropped into the dusty cushion
with a heavy sigh. The footrest squeaked as he extended it, creaked again when
he tossed his bare feet on it. An hour had passed since he’d informed Kirstin
he’d do her project for a fee. Plenty of time for her to stew and simmer. Any
minute now she’d storm through the back door and—
“Mason
Montgomery you are a class-A jerk!”
And give him
hell.
He stifled a
chuckle. She was so predicable. If she hadn’t shown up, he’d think there was
something seriously wrong with her.
Slowly, he
pulled himself out of the recliner and stood to confront her furious scowl.
“I’ve been called worse. I think when you stormed out of here a few weeks ago,
asshole was at the top of your list.”
“You know I
can’t afford to pay you.” She stuffed her fists on her hips and glared.
Damn, but she
looked hot in those skimpy shorts. If this were just a normal argument, he’d
thoroughly enjoy peeling her out of them during a rigorous bout of make-up sex.
Instead, he forced his attention off the short scraps of denim and wandered
into the kitchen where he plucked a box of Cheez-Its off the countertop and
popped a handful in his mouth. No use talking until she finished—she’d bulldoze
right over him until she said everything she’d thought of for the last hour.
“I can’t
afford to pay my cell phone bill, in case you’ve missed that on your monthly
bank statement. And the one time I ask you for a favor, the one time I
need
your help more than anything, you
charge
me for it? How the hell do you
expect that to work? Oh! I know!” She thrust an arm across her body, pointing
out the patio door. “I’ll go pluck it off the rose bushes. Pay you in petals! How’s
that?”
It took an
incredible amount of self-control not to laugh at the spots of indignant color
that stained her cheeks or the way her chest heaved. Kirstin angry was about
like a pissed off Yorkie. Not that she wasn’t capable of doing serious damage
with her tongue, but she was so petite that anger had a comical effect.
He shrugged
again, the safest response that wouldn’t infuriate her more. “I’ll take an IOU.
You can pay me when Lisa pays. There should be plenty left for you to do what
you need to do.”
Move. That’s
what she needed to do. Wanted to do. His heart twisted as reality sank home
again. He wasn’t supposed to be entertained by this. He’d decided to charge her
because she was walking out. Giving up on them. On him.
Mason set the
Cheez-Its down, braced his hands on the countertop, and leaned his weight into
his arms. “If you don’t like the offer, I can give you some referrals.”