“Ah… Well…” she fumbled.
“I’d do it gratis. I’ve been in the position of having to establish myself—I’m even willing to offer some additional work, if you’re interested.”
“I…Wow.” She swallowed. Fire Mason and work with Steve? Talk about a situation even more awkward than the current one. But the extra work was damn tempting.
Kirstin closed the refrigerator. “I’m sure you can appreciate this is a surprise, Steve. I need some time to think about it.”
“Sure, sure. Take all the time you need.”
She glanced out the window again and spied Mason exiting the patio door, barefoot, newspaper in hand, along with a mug of coffee. Her heart lurched, her pulse kicked up a notch. She sucked down a groan, and hurriedly looked away. “Will you be at the Gamesquare launch tonight? We could discuss this there.”
“Oh. You’re going?” Surprise laced through his voice.
“Yeah. I’m attending with Mason.”
Another chuckle uncomfortably prickled her skin. “That’s right. He mentioned you did some work on the graphical interface. Sure, we can talk about it tonight. I’ve already run some preliminary ideas and think it’s possible we could have this turned around in half the time you’ve currently projected. I’ll give you some insight on my thoughts before the dinner.”
Half the time? Kirstin’s gaze pulled to the window once more. In four days, she could be in an apartment across town, free from the heartache of loving Mason.
Chapter Eight
When eleven o’clock rolled around and Kirstin hadn’t returned his phone call, Mason stopped pretending to read the paper and went back inside to try again. 10:00 a.m. on the nose was entirely too early for her to have had time to consume the requisite two cups of coffee and down something quick to eat, to approach the conversation anyway. Besides, he needed a little time to get his head around the direction that would work best. By now, she’d be up, fully functional. If she refused to come over and talk, he’d show up on Sam’s patio knock until she caved.
As he reached for the cordless on the kitchen wall, he glanced out the patio door and drew back in surprise. Dressed like she intended on a run, she descended the Roberts’ deck stairs at a jog. But instead of turning right and cutting through the lawns to the lake, she started across the grass, on a direct trajectory toward their patio. Nerves skittered around in his gut. Damn, he’d been so convinced he could do this. Now, with the conversation imminent, his throat went dry.
Time passed in nightmarishly slow motion. He watched the door, eyed her shadow as it elongated on the pavestones. Then she was at the glass, her gaze locking on him, one petite hand lifted to knock.
He beckoned her inside.
Kirstin slipped in with a hesitant smile. “Morning, Mason.”
“Morning, babe.” The endearment popped out before he could stop it. He cringed inwardly—not a good way to break the ice. The last thing he wanted to do was set her on edge before he ever got to the important matters.
Mason nodded at her tank top and entirely too-short cotton shorts. “Headed ’round the lake?”
“I thought I might.” She dropped a hip onto the arm of his orange plaid chair. “I needed to talk to you first.”
The fist around his innards clamped down tight, but Mason exhaled slowly and deliberately. No matter how impossible, how uncomfortable the confrontation might be, he determined to overcome his nerves. He couldn’t afford to shut down now.
He rounded the countertop and took a seat on the edge of the oversized chair facing her. Hands clasped loosely between his knees, he met her jittery gaze. “I want to talk to you too. Last night—”
Kirstin begged him off with a lift of her hand. “I can’t talk about last night right now.”
“Then when?” The demanding overtone to his question surprised him.
She gave him a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Mason. We’ve talked about it. We don’t get anywhere. I feel like I’m going in circles.”
Talked about what? Confusion pulled his brow into a tight frown. “Like hell we have. If we had, I might understand why you aren’t here, in this house, with me, where you’re supposed to be.”
Pain flashed behind Kirstin’s grass-green eyes. She lowered her face, her long black hair hiding whatever other reaction she might have had. Mason’s gut rolled over. He didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to turn this into an argument. But he needed to know what she wanted from him, what she was so damnably convinced he couldn’t give. And he needed her to realize just what sort of bitch Lisa Bennet was.
“What expectations?” he asked quietly. “What do you need from me?”
She lifted a hand to shield her eyes, and her shoulders shook with silent tears. “You,” she mumbled.
Him? Mason blinked. That didn’t make sense. He reached between them and took her free hand. “You’ve got me, baby.”
“No,” she argued on a sob. “No, I don’t.” Lifting watery eyes to his, she gestured at the hall. “Your work has you. The last time I went to bed before you, did you come with me? No, you sat at your computer. You don’t involve me. You don’t tell me what’s going through your head.” She jerked her hand from his and threw them both in the air. “I had no idea you moved this damn chair out of consideration for me! You told me it didn’t match the new, expensive, set.”
That was the truth—it didn’t match. But when he’d moved the recliner, he hadn’t thought he needed to state the obvious—she would be the one with clients coming in and out. He didn’t care who saw the ancient ugly thing. Not so very long ago, she would have realized that. And when she’d been taking night classes at the junior college, he’d let her get her sleep then too. Not once had she doubted his reasons for not going to bed with her. Hell, Kirstin slept in the nude. She damn well knew he couldn’t keep his hands off her.
Mason’s frown deepened, and he stared at his hands. The larger problem was what had happened to make her so out of tune with him.
“My first big project, you abandoned me on. You didn’t like Lisa, didn’t like the way I was handling it, and you left me to figure out all the things I didn’t know on my own.”
His head snapped up, indignation nearly driving him to his feet. Lisa. The root of their problem. He didn’t need any further evidence. “You’re right, I can’t stand that bitch. She put you through hell, and I couldn’t sit back and watch. I couldn’t take the project from you—you needed it. But I couldn’t deal with the way she cut you apart and the complete lack of respect she had for you.”
Spots of color rose to Kirstin’s cheeks, and her green eyes flashed. “Lack of respect for me? Where would you come up with that? Christ, Mason, she referred me to Steve Whitmore! He wants to hire me for regular contract work. Even my own boyfriend didn’t offer me a job. I had to hire him.”
An invisible fist thumped Mason in the chest and shoved the air from his lungs. Steve Whitmore? That rat bastard was a snake in the grass. On at least two occasions, he’d tried to take credit for Mason’s work. Thank God, Don paid attention to artistic styles and recognized the truth at a glance.
Moreover, Steve ran in some freakish circles. Don confided Steve had invited him and Maria to one of those private, hush-hush clubs where pleasure came from a lot of pain in private cellar rooms. BDSM, fetishes.
Mason drew in a sharp breath.
Swingers.
Fucking Lisa!
He ground his teeth together and chained his temper. Holding Kirstin’s gaze, he chewed on the inside of his cheek, debating how to proceed. Tell her everything he knew about Steve Whitmore, or point out how willing Lisa was to stab Kirstin in the back?
Logic rushed in, arguing neither. He’d unwittingly hurt Kirstin, and that deserved his foremost attention.
“Kirstin, you hired me after you walked out. That aside…” He reached between them again, this time clasping both her hands. “I didn’t offer you a job because we were already partners. Anything you wanted to work on with me—
you think I’d have told you no?” He gave her fingers a tight squeeze. “I’d have given you all the work you wanted, but I didn’t know you had an interest. You didn’t tell me, baby.”
When she remained unresponsive, her fingers limp against his and her stare fixed on something behind him that he couldn’t see, he lowered his voice and asked, “You aren’t going to work for him, are you?”
Kirstin answered with a weak shrug. Her voice rang just above a whisper. “I haven’t decided. I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”
Why she shouldn’t—he’d be more than happy to list the numerous reasons. Before he could respond, however, she met his gaze with a short sigh. “Lisa recommended me. She’s a pain in the butt, but she has connections. It could be my big break.”
Big break he could understand. Yet there were a dozen other ways she could obtain it. Namely, Don. One word to Don Margelies, and Kirstin would have clients coming out her ears. Mason would have recommended her earlier, but he’d assumed, since she’d never asked for help, that she wanted to forge her own way.
Regardless, he couldn’t sit here and listen to her sing Lisa’s praises. He glanced down at their joined hands, admiring her short, manicured nails. Her fingertips were soft as silk, the warm press of her skin a comfort he treasured. Affectionately, he ran his thumbs over the back of her hands. “There’s another reason I left Lisa’s project to you.”
Her delicate features scrunched together in curious puzzlement.
Damn, this was going to hurt. No matter how he put it, he couldn’t soften the necessary blow. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, exhaled hard. Then, he lifted his lashes, and hoping she’d see how very much he didn’t want to tell her, he brought his gaze to hers. “You remember the SIGGRAPH banquet?”
He’d have sworn Kirstin flinched before she nodded.
“Remember when, just before my award, Lisa pulled me aside?”
She nodded again.
Mason gripped her hands more tightly. “Baby, she didn’t ask me about the project. She asked me to leave you with Tom and test out the king-sized bed in her room.”
****
Stunned to the core of her being, Kirstin’s mouth dropped open. She snapped it shut and stared, wide-eyed, at Mason. He couldn’t be serious. Lisa was in her fifties. Tom doted on her. She always talked about how close they were, how much she adored him. Lisa didn’t have any reason to proposition Mason—well, other than the fact he could fill out a tux better than any man she’d ever met. That, and his unruly dark waves gave him roguish sex appeal. Not to mention his blue eyes held the power to make women melt.
Okay, so it wasn’t the fact that Mason had been propositioned she found difficult to believe. Just that Lisa had done so.
“You’re making that up.” Even as the words flew from her lips, she knew they were false. Mason might suck at verbal communication, but he’d never lied. Never had any reason to.
He shook his head. “I’m not. Tom and she are swingers. It shocked the hell out of me. Even more when, before I could tell her to go to hell, she had my boys in her hand.” In typical Mason misplaced humor, one corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk. “I don’t think my boys have ever been more frightened of a woman.”
The idea of any woman touching what Kirstin rightfully claimed as hers, sent rage coursing through her veins. But the indignant retort that crept up her throat died on the tip of her tongue as the thought of that poaching woman being Lisa conflicted with all she had come to understand about her client. Throughout the harrowing project Lisa did all she could to establish a bond of friendship.
“I don’t believe I’m hearing this.” She pulled one hand free from Mason’s to rub at her temple. “Why didn’t you say something then?” Damn him, if he had, Edge Skateboard’s project wouldn’t have come between them. She’d have understood his distance.
Mason’s grin flattened into grave sincerity. “I didn’t want to upset you.”
Try as she might to keep budding anger under control, it slipped into her veins anyway. Hadn’t wanted to upset her—so he pulled away? “That was productive, wasn’t it?” The bitter retort burst free against her will.
“Kirstin—”
“Are you telling me this now because you’re afraid you’ll lose the income for my job? Because you’re worried I might want to work for Steve?” She snatched her hands back and bolted to her feet. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! That you’d keep something that important to yourself!”
Mason’s jaw tightened into a hard line, the only sign her words carried impact. But he made no attempt to diffuse her anger, didn’t try to stutter an apology. His silence took her right back to the point she’d been trying to make earlier and fueled her temper.
“You shut me out. This is exactly what I was talking about—you don’t involve me. You keep me at bay, take me out of the cabinet when you want to play, and then put me back on the shelf when work demands your attention.”
“That’s not—”
“You wanted to know what expectations I was talking about? That’s a huge one. Mountainous. And you’re incapable of letting me in.”
In a surprising display of frustration, Mason shot to his feet. “I’m not!”
“No?” She shook her head sadly. “Then why the hell did it take you two weeks to even attempt asking me to come home? You shut me out there too. When you did finally get around to it, it was too late. Your silence, your refusal to walk across that lawn,” she thrust a hand toward the patio door, “and talk to me, only proved how insignificant I am.”
“And you’re the one who played the childish game of walking out to test me!”
Kirstin blinked. She couldn’t remember the last time Mason yielded to such an emotional explosion. The sheer shock of his furious retort deflated her own anger to a far more manageable level. She took a deep breath. Held it as she counted to ten.
Feeling more in control, she stalked to the patio door. “It wasn’t a test. When I left, I had every intention of never coming back. I wouldn’t have, if Lisa hadn’t called.”
“And now that Steve has?”
His quiet question hinted at the deeper, childlike insecurities he harbored. The barely disguised pain in his words, the nervous fear he tried to swallow, rang clear as crystal despite his level tone. Her heart twisted into an agonizing knot. She couldn’t bring herself to answer, to cut him deep and make him bleed.
Instead, she opened the door and whispered, “I don’t know, Mason.” Stepping onto the patio, she murmured, “We’ll talk after the launch.”
****
Struck dumb by a fear more terrifying than any imprisoning nightmare, Mason watched Kirstin disappear out the door. He was losing her. Really, truly losing Kirstin. And God help him, he didn’t know how to stop this out of control roller coaster.
Didn’t know if he could.
Or even should.
They were so mixed up and at odds. So removed from the closeness they’d shared for the five most important years of his life. Maybe she was right—love wasn’t enough anymore.
No. He couldn’t allow himself to believe that. He needed her too much to let her go without a fight.
Raking a hand through his hair, he found the ability to move and sagged into the recliner. He’d made things worse by telling her about Lisa. But while he might be clueless now and then, he wasn’t a complete Neanderthal. He heard loud and clear what she’d said, and Kirstin needed words from him.
It made sense now—the expectations, her claims she’d been alone. Logically, he didn’t necessarily agree. She could have asked him to come to bed with her if it bothered her so much. But logic and reason aside, her former innate ability to understand him had morphed into a hunger for affirmation. Reassurance his good intentions failed to deliver.
She believed him incapable. In many ways, she was right. He simply didn’t know how to tell her what resided in his heart. Showing through his actions had always been easier. But that approach wouldn’t cut it now.
If he intended to save the best five years of his life from imminent disaster, he had to step up and meet her halfway. And he’d better figure out how, damn quick. Before Steve Whitmore could seduce her with promises of career success. If that happened, she’d yank the project, and the only safety-net Mason could cling to would slip right through his fingers.
Chapter Nine
Arms over her head, Kirstin tucked the final pearl-tipped pin into her loosely swept-up hair. She dropped her hands, tipped her head to the side, and examined her attempts. Not lopsided, thank goodness. So far, it was holding without the need of an entire can of hairspray too. But her face looked pale and thin—evidence of the long weeks away from Mason.
She used a fingernail to loosen a tendril at the side of her face and add a little fullness. Better.
Stepping back, she rose on her toes to get a good look at the full picture. The puffiness around her eyes had gone down; she no longer resembled one of the living dead. Pink had never been a color she cared for. But the minute she’d seen this rose-petal silk hanging in Jocelyn’s front window, she’d been drawn like a moth to light. When she’d tried it on, it fit like someone custom made it for her, and she’d known Mason would love it.
That she’d found matching heels, instead of having to order the dyed variety, further said she’d been meant to own this ankle-length gown. So pink it was, and tonight, in the soft light of Theresa’s bathroom, the pastel silk de-emphasized the brittle lines of worry that had etched into her face over the last year.
She looked young. Innocent. Completely unaware of the troubles a heart could encounter.
Taking one last minute to adjust the beaded halter straps that wound around her neck then crossed to lift her breasts, she took a deep breath for courage. Tonight was the last night she’d bask in Mason’s arms. No matter what came tomorrow, no matter how final things were in the morning, she’d enjoy one more night with him. She’d spent too many years at his side to have their goodbyes said on bitter notes. She didn’t want to look back and remember all the negativity. She wanted to be able to smile at wistful memories.
Misunderstanding Mason Page 7
