The note of excitement he detected in Kirstin’s voice left a bitter taste in his mouth. He might as well forget any conversation about what had gone wrong and whether they could patch things back together. That simple question brought reality down around his shoulders. She wanted out. Couldn’t wait to be free.
“Yeah.” He pushed away from the sink, unable to bring himself to look at her and see the bright cast to her expression. “I’m going to get dressed.” He strode for the hall, ignoring the fierce urge to haul her out of that wicker-backed chair and kiss her until she was breathless and panting and incapable of tearing them apart.
“Lisa sent an email this morning with more information. It’s on the computer in my office,” he called over his shoulder as he rounded the corner.
He heard her chair scrape across the floor, the quiet footfalls as she followed in his path. Before the scent of kiwi that always clung to her hair from her shower the night before could filter to his nose, he shut the bedroom door, blocking her out. Green. She’d worn green because she was feeling insecure. About the project or about being near him?
Mason yanked a pair of jeans out of the dresser drawer and unfolded them with a fierce shake. Lisa Bennet always rattled Kirstin’s confidence. That was the dominant reason he’d never told Kirstin about Lisa’s indecent proposal. The woman was the only person alive who could turn Kirstin inside out with just a few words. Last time, it had taken all his self-control to not ask Kirstin to turn the project over to him just so he wouldn’t have to watch her doubt all her hard work and her true gift for art. She’d wanted so badly to succeed. Lisa was her first big name client with the potential to turn Kirstin’s hobby into the career she so desperately wanted. He had let her handle it, forced his opinions to the wayside, and after the proposition, removed himself from the project before he strangled Lisa.
Now, here they were again. Only this time, Kirstin was so desperate to get away from him she couldn’t even recognize Lisa’s poison was already running in her veins. And this time, there wasn’t a damn thing Mason could do about it.
Except finish the project before Kirstin suffered irreparable damage.
God his head hurt just thinking about the coming fallout.
No, he amended as he eased a grey T-shirt over his head. The banging against his brain came from beer. Shit—how many had he had last night anyway? All he could remember was sitting down in the recliner with the second one in his hand. Then he woke to the bright sun, in his bed, with the worst hangover he’d experienced since college.
He glanced in the mirror. Ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. Shaving would have to wait until he rehydrated. With the way his hands were still shaking, he’d cut the hell out of his face. Besides, it wasn’t like he had clients to see today. He’d finished the project for Gamesquare—
Shit!
Gamesquare’s launch party was tomorrow night. As their lead designer, he was presenting the final prototype at the banquet dinner. He and Kirstin had reserved seats at Don Margelies, the owner’s, VIP table. Just last week Don hinted when the deal was finished, he wanted Kirstin and Mason to join him and his wife on their yacht in the Caribbean for a week.
Mason groaned inwardly. Last week he’d been convinced Kirstin was in a snit. The last thing he wanted was to face the banquet solo and the inevitable questions. He might be able to find excuses to explain her absence for one night. But not with the invitation for a week-long cruise hanging over his head.
He yanked the bedroom door open and wandered into his office. Kirstin sat in his chair, long black hair spilling all the way down to her waist and dangling over one arm. She started when he entered, spinning around to set wide green eyes on him and steal the very breath from his lungs. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t move. His gut clamped down so tight he’d swear someone punched him. She was so damn beautiful.
“Good grief, you scared the crap out of me, Mason.”
The melodic ring of her laughter relaxed the constriction in his chest. But the wide smile that turned her pretty face into something crafted by the divine laced him further into knots. His pulse kicked up a notch, and for one frightening moment, he was thrown back in time when David Kirkoff had introduced them. For the first time in his life, Mason doubted himself. She wouldn’t want him. He was a gamer. A nerd who’d rather sit in front of the computer than throw footballs or hit the courts with guys like David. He didn’t have a chance.
Except, somehow, for some unexplainable reason, those mesmerizing green eyes didn’t leave his. Not a day had passed since, that he didn’t consider himself lucky.
Her smile faltered, and Mason’s gaze riveted on her full lips. He wanted to kiss her right now as much as he had that long ago night at David’s dinner party. More than he’d wanted to then. The need to feel the soft silk of her lips against his, to taste the way the rich flavor of black coffee lingered on her tongue, swamped through him like fire over dried tinder. Heat mingled in his veins, and he swallowed with effort.
Kirstin turned back to the monitor before the urge could steal the last bits of sense in his head and he did something unthinkable, like tangle his fingers into her thick hair and force her into something she’d made clear she didn’t want. He steered his thoughts back to the slowly rotating, 3-D skateboard on his monitor and fought down a pang of regret.
“Oh, God, Mason, this doesn’t look easy at all. She wants a virtual storefront. With interactive options.”
“Nah, it’s simple.” Doing his best to ignore the tempting aroma of kiwi, he bent over her shoulder to snag a piece of blank printer paper. Before he reached for a pen, Kirstin had one ready. He accepted it with a smile, and sketched a square on the paper. Inside, he drew two rows of three smaller squares.
“This is your part, babe. You put together a flat graphic with Flash. Make this look like bins on a wall. Each box has something different inside it. Wheels, paint cans, decals—you get the idea.”
Kirstin nodded.
“Stick a label on the bin for further clarity. Give them some animation, some enhancement, and we’ll put the skateboard right here.” He tapped the open space in the middle of the square.
“Okay…”
“After you finish that, I’ll put the code on the back end. When the user taps their finger on the bins, we’ll bring them to a list. The list can route to Edge Skateboard’s website.”
Straightening, he passed her the pen. Her fingers touched his, sending a jolt of electricity all the way up to his shoulder, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away from those bright green eyes. His voice lowered of its own accord. “It’s just teamwork.”
“Yeah.” Something he couldn’t define passed across her face, dimming the light in her eyes. She took the pen from his hand and slid out of the chair. “I, ah, guess I’ll go back home and get started on those drawings.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “I’ll bring you something to work with later this afternoon.”
He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let her walk out that door no matter how logical her suggestion was. Allowing Kirstin to leave this office would drive the final nail into the coffin their life together had become. He sensed it in his gut.
Mason caught her by the elbow as she turned. She stopped, surprise lifting her eyebrows.
“Why don’t you use mine?”
Confusion drew her brow into a tight line. When she opened her mouth to presumably argue the logic in his proposal, Mason dropped her arm and rushed to eradicate her protest. “It’s easier. If you work here, I can haul out the laptop, and we can pass files back and forth as we go along.”
“Here,” she repeated with a nod at his computer, as if she didn’t believe him.
“Yeah.” Mason swiveled his leather chair around. “Have a seat.” To cover up any desperation that might have inched out through his voice, he forced a grin and plucked her empty coffee cup from her hands. “I’ll refill us, and we can get started.”
Chapter Five
Working at Mason’s comput
er wasn’t just odd, it was as strange as a snowstorm in summer—in the Sahara no less. Not because his comfortable leather chair dwarfed her or retained the stirring scent of Mason fresh from a shower, but because he didn’t let anyone get close to this whirring piece of technology. His affair with his high-end, custom-built for graphical design computer was, simply put, sacred.
Any time she’d thought to jump on and do something as simple as borrow his electronic sketchpad, he’d find a reason she couldn’t. It made him edgy to have her check their email from this mechanical princess.
Yet, for the last four hours, they shared the same office space, he working just off to her left at the decrepit laptop, and not once had he hovered over her to verify she wasn’t torturing the poor machine. He hadn’t tried to tell her things she already knew, hadn’t cautioned her to be careful.
She stole a sideways glance at him. For all intents and purposes he looked completely at ease.
Kirstin crossed her feet Indian style and shifted her weight. The leather creaked and gave off another whiff of soap, sage shampoo, and woodsy aftershave that stirred warmth through her veins. Beyond all his normal paranoia about letting her near his computer, she was sitting in his spot. His office. His kingdom. No room in the house better described him. His professional awards hung on the wall to the right, framing the window that overlooked the front lawn. Little trinkets from childhood—a metal fire engine, a G.I. Joe figurine, a raggedy stuffed donkey—adorned the shelves overhead.
An 8x10 picture of the both of them on their vacation in Hawaii last year sat right beneath her nose.
For a moment, she abandoned the digital wood-tone shelf with its three bins and stared at the photograph. In it, he stood behind her, his arms clasped around her waist, his chin tucked into her shoulder as he nuzzled the side of her neck. It wasn’t the picture he’d worked to convince the lady who’d been enjoying sunset with her daughter to take. That one, where they stood side by side in a staged shot with the red horizon at their back, hung in the front room. They hadn’t even known the lady took this one until they returned to their hotel room. The accommodating woman had snapped it just before they posed.
Kirstin’s heart rolled over. They looked so happy. Back before Lisa and the project that pushed them apart. They’d walked along the beach until well after sunset, collecting the little shells that were now tucked into the shelf next to Mason’s printer. Holding hands. Laughing. Kicking frothy seawater onto each other’s bare feet. When they’d returned to their suite…
She shivered as vivid pictures of the thorough way Mason made love to her throughout the night leapt to life in her mind. Hours later, when they were both so exhausted the only thing they could do was curl up and yield to sleep, he kissed her shoulder and slipped his fingers into hers as he closed his eyes.
I love you, baby.
A shadow descended on her screen, and Kirstin scrambled to pull herself out of memories. She glanced up to find Mason at her side, his blue eyes dark and intense—and watching her. Heat crept into her cheeks, and she quickly averted her gaze. “I think I’m almost done with this next bin.”
“Looks good.” He beckoned for the electronic pen. “May I?”
Without waiting for an answer, Mason plucked the pen from her fingers and bent over her shoulder. As his hand moved over the digital sketchpad, she studied the fine dark hair that shadowed corded forearms and dusted over the back of his hand. His fingers weren’t rough, didn’t sport the thick calluses of a man who worked with his hands. They held just enough strength to reveal the countless hours he spent doing yard work, but retained elegance in their length. Gentleness only Mason could pull off. On another man, they’d look effeminate. On Mason, they were sexy as hell.
“What do you think?” He pulled back a fraction to give her a better view of the screen, and his elbow brushed her shoulder. His gaze jumped to hers, the spark that shot between them impossible to deny.
Kirstin moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. He was so close, so temptingly close. Where they touched, his skin warmed hers. Tingles skittered up her spine. Goosebumps raced down her arms and tightened her breasts. The uncomfortable ache of longing spread into her womb.
As if caught by the same magnetic pull that forbade her to look away from his mesmerizing stare, Mason reached out to tuck her hair behind her shoulder. The feather-light caress of his knuckles against the side of her neck almost made her gasp. Every particle of her being jumped to life, arcing toward his body, yearning for the comfortable familiarity of his strong arms. The brush of his lips against hers. How long had it been? Two weeks? It felt like two eternities.
“Kirstin.”
Low and husky, his voice rolled through her like a tidal wave. His warm breath stirred the fine hairs on her cheek. Her lashes fluttered, weighed down by irresistible temptation. All she needed to do was turn her head…
Kirstin blinked hard. Mason was entirely too close. And she, entirely too on the verge of forgetting all the reasons she walked out of this house.
She twisted in the opposite direction and looked at the screen. “What’d you do?”
If it weren’t for the casual way he gestured at the screen and the impassive expression on his face, she’d have sworn an oath hissed through his teeth.
“Blue,” he answered as he tapped the monitor. A swathe of electric blue now offset the shading she’d been working on for the last thirty minutes, lighting the graphic with just the right amount of color.
He stood up, raked a hand through his hair. “I’m starved. Gonna go call in Chinese.”
Chinese? Since when did Mason order takeout? For that matter, how did he know which place to call—for as long as she could remember, she always planned dinner.
She dismissed the questions. What Mason did for dinner, or where he ordered from wasn’t any of her concern. He’d obviously figured out how to fend for himself. Of course, when it came to food, he wasn’t terribly picky. It wouldn’t surprise her if he had become a regular at the greasy imitation Chinese place three blocks down.
He vanished out the door. Folding her arms on the desk, Kirstin dropped her forehead to the back of her wrists and let out a groan. She’d almost kissed a man who hadn’t bothered to object, even once, to the fact she’d walked out on him. What the hell was wrong with her?
Lack of food, that’s what. She hadn’t finished her breakfast and subsisting on coffee the entire afternoon had left her lightheaded. Thankfully, Mason had given her the perfect opportunity to call a break. If he were ordering Chinese, she’d run over to Sam and Theresa’s and put together a sandwich. They could regroup later, if Mason still wanted to work on Lisa’s project today.
Scooting the chair away from the desk, Kirstin unfolded her legs and stretched. No wonder Mason loved his chair—she could easily sleep in the soft leather. Guess that explained how he never noticed how late it was; he’d been too comfortable to take refuge in the bed.
As that niggling sense of discomfort edged into her muscles, she headed for the door. Best to leave before memories got the better of her.
“Where are you off to?” Mason intercepted her in the doorway.
“Um. Back to Sam and Theresa’s for some food.” She arched an eyebrow. “Okay if I get something to eat too?”
Surprise crossed his expression, widening his eyes for a millisecond. Then his brows puckered into a slight frown. “I just called China Jade and ordered Pineapple Chicken and Mu Shu Pork.”
For the third time in one day, Kirstin did a double take. Pineapple Chicken she could write off to a request for ‘that chicken and pineapple combo.’ It didn’t take a genius to memorize her favorite Chinese. What had her struggling to stay on her feet was China Jade. Their carryout boxes were red and white, no name printed on them anywhere. They hadn’t been inside China Jade ever. How in the hell did Mason pick the one place she ordered carryout from religiously?
She restored her thoughts with a shake of her head. Luck. That’s the only thing that c
ould explain it. Nothing more than coincidence—never mind that the hole in the wall restaurant was on the other side of town and virtually unknown.
Mason’s frown deepened as he squinted at her. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Ducking around his shoulder, she headed for the kitchen. “I just wasn’t expecting we’d eat together.”
****
Mason watched Kirstin’s stiff retreat down the hall. I’m fine, ranked right up there with it’s okay, when it came to misleading responses. She was about as fine as a simmering volcano. Only, for the life of him, he couldn’t explain what had set her off. He’d ordered the same thing she had twice a month for as long as he could remember. They loved China Jade.
He hadn’t thought she would mind. She’d been working hard—pineapple somehow rejuvenated her. Since they had at least another three hours of work to finish tonight, it seemed logical.
Never mind that he was particularly craving Mu Shu Pork.
So why the stiff as boulders back and pinched lips?
He grimaced inwardly as the answer surfaced—she hadn’t expected they’d eat dinner together. Damn. That directly translated to she didn’t want to eat dinner with him. Here. In their house.
He hadn’t even thought about that. He’d just ordered out of habit. And if she was that averse to a casual dinner, it didn’t bode well for the formal affair they were obligated to attend tomorrow night.
He tapped an open palm against the doorframe and ducked into his office. Ten minutes ago, he’d have sworn on his soul she wanted to kiss him as much as he ached to do to her. Hell, he should have just done so when her eyes lit with that all too familiar shade of emerald. He would have, if he hadn’t been so afraid she’d pull away. He couldn’t confront that finality yet. Nor did he necessarily care to fall apart in front of her.
Having forgotten why he’d come to the office, Mason stopped in the middle of the room. Ice cubes clattering against glass drifted to his ears from the kitchen, and a sad smile tugged at his mouth. So this was what five years came down to—polite dinners, talking as if they were strangers, and pretending the other wasn’t in the next room.
Misunderstanding Mason Page 4
