Tomorrow though, she was leaving this neighborhood and going to her dad’s where she should have taken refuge from the get-go. She hadn’t because she didn’t want her father worrying. When she informed him that she and Mason had split, she wanted to be able to follow the announcement up with news about her new apartment, her steady job.
Her dad would just have to take her word now. She couldn’t stay this close to Mason any longer.
Kirstin opened the door, flipped off the light, and stepped into the hall.
“Wow.” Sam let out a long, low whistle that prompted Theresa to turn around and look over the back of the couch. “Knock him out, kid.”
Laughing, Kirstin wandered into the kitchen to calm her budding nerves with a glass of white wine. As she poured, Theresa thrust her glass beneath the bottle. “Top me off, would you?”
Kirstin filled both, returned the bottle to the fridge, then picked up her glass and drank deeply.
“Liquid courage?” Theresa teased.
“Something like that.”
Lowering her voice so Sam couldn’t hear, Theresa asked, “How are you doing—really?”
Kirstin shrugged. “It’s all so surreal, Lisa. I mean…good God. Who does that? It’s like she was making good with me to get to Mason.” She let out a shaky laugh. “I feel pretty stupid and naive. I’m thirty-two—I should have noticed something. And I can’t believe Mason didn’t say a damn word.”
Theresa chewed on her lower lip, her gaze sliding toward the couch, where Sam reclined in front of the television. “I don’t know if he would have said anything either.”
Chuckling, Kirstin shook her head. “He tells you when he needs to clip his toenails. I doubt he’d keep something like that quiet.” She took another sip of wine. “Mason left me to work with that woman, knowing full well what she was like. He didn’t even think it was important. It happened, he dealt with it, I didn’t need to know. That’s not right.”
As tears threatened once more, Kirstin bit down hard on her lower lip and rapidly blinked them back. One drop worked its way free to trickle down her cheek. “Oh damn,” she muttered.
“Okay.” Theresa set her glass down with a bright smile. “No more of this. We don’t want you melting before you get to the ball, princess.”
Kirstin couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Come here. I’ve got the perfect clutch to match that dress.” Grabbing Kirstin by the wrist, she led her down the hall.
****
The alarm on Mason’s watch emitted a high-pitched beep, alerting him that Kirstin would arrive any minute. He hastily scrawled down another line in his speech, folded the paper into quarters, and shoved it inside his tuxedo jacket.
Damn it. His cuffs weren’t pinned, he couldn’t find his black bowtie, and he didn’t feel anywhere near close to ready. For the last two hours, he’d worked on his speech, ensuring he had exactly what he wanted to say put in a place his nerves couldn’t possibly make him forget. The routine was the same before every launch party. He worked on what he had to say in front of his peers until the very last minute, when Kirstin rapped on his office door to alert him time was up.
Invariably, he spent the next ten minutes dashing around the house pulling the rest of himself together. Invariably, she had his bowtie tucked away somewhere he’d never think of looking.
Damn, he’d wanted to have his act together tonight.
Shoving out of the chair, he hurried to the bedroom and fished cufflinks out of the dresser. The little buttonholes refused to cooperate with the brass shanks, and he dropped one. It rolled under the bed, forcing him to get on his hands and knees and brave that formidable place of dust bunnies and other things he couldn’t identify.
“Mason?” Kirstin’s voice rang from the living room.
“Shit,” he muttered. At that moment, his hand collided with the cufflink, and he closed his fingers around it. He managed to stand, seconds before Kirstin’s voice echoed down the hall.
“Mason?”
“Back here,” he answered as he shoved the cufflink into place. One down, one to go. Good God, he hated these formal dinners.
The floorboards creaked as she entered the bedroom, and the subtle scent of kiwi teased him with her presence. Caught off guard by the way his body suddenly tightened, he bobbled the second cufflink and dropped it too. “Damn it.”
Kirstin’s soft laugh diffused his jangled nerves, and he let out a deep breath. Just another launch. Just another five-minute speech and thirty-minute demonstration. He would survive, as he did every time.
Mason turned around to retrieve his cufflink as Kirstin bent at the knees and picked it off the floor. As she straightened, his breath caught. Rich silk, in a demure rose-petal pink, highlighted her early summer tan. It clung to her upper body, accenting the graceful curve of her narrow waist, before falling in loose folds to the floor. She never failed to amaze him when she emerged from the bathroom, her casual clothes exchanged for a lavish evening gown, her natural beauty somehow magically transforming her into a breathtaking enchantress. But tonight, that pretty pastel pink kicked him in the gut so hard he’d swear she wasn’t real. The spark of arousal lit in his veins, spreading warmth throughout his body. Beneath his loose tuxedo pants, his cock stirred against his thigh.
Oh, holy hell. In less time than it took to draw in a breath, he was painfully hard and aching to touch her. If things weren’t so weird between them, if he had half a clue where their relationship stood, he’d say to hell with the launch and peel her out of that silk, his speech be damned.
“Here,” she said with an airy chuckle. “Let me.”
Before the danger of her hands could connect with his brain and he could refuse, Kirstin rotated his wrist and fastened the cufflink in place. Her fingertips burned against the base of his wrist. He drew in an unsteady breath, only to become intoxicated by the light fragrance of her fruity perfume. Lifting his other hand, he reached for her waist.
His fingers barely grazed the silk, and she stepped away. Silently cursing his folly, Mason went to the closet to dig for his tie.
“It’s in the nightstand.” Kirstin laughed as she sat on the edge of the bed. Reaching across her body, she opened the drawer and pulled out the tie. “Here.”
In a flash, how it had ended up in the nightstand came back to him. New Years. They’d both been tipsy on champagne. They couldn’t leave Don’s party fast enough, and by the time they hit the bedroom, naked hadn’t just been a desire, but a need. One that burned so fierce undressing became impossible. She’d pulled off his tie and tossed it aside before giving up and yanking at his belt. He’d broken her zipper. They’d fallen into bed, a tangled mess of thirsting hands and mouths. Still wearing his jacket, the long hem of her dress pushed up to her waist, they’d made love in a frenzy.
Mason clenched his teeth against a groan. He snatched the tie from her open palm and hurriedly fastened it around his neck. Reliving those kinds of rendezvous wouldn’t make surviving tonight any easier. Kirstin was here on a sheer technicality. He had about as much chance of seeing her naked as he did winning the lottery.
He tugged on the hem of his jacket and smoothed his pockets down. “Shall we?” To his ears, his voice held a tremor.
Laughing again, Kirstin shook her head as she slid off the edge of the bed. “You’re all crooked.”
In a blink, she was standing in front of him once more, her body so close the warmth of her skin seared through his clothes. Nimble fingers straightened his tie, then slid beneath his jacket, around his waist, to align his cummerbund. His belly jumped beneath the tickle of her hands, and the tightness in his groin made him want to wince.
Kirstin flattened a palm in the center of his chest. Whether out of habit, or because she wasn’t entirely immune to their close proximity, Mason couldn’t say. But she tipped her head up and gave him a sweet smile that reached in and twisted him inside out.
“There.” She tapped her fingers on his sternum. “Handsome as ever.”
As regret passed behind her eyes and dimmed her smile, Mason realized the accidental nature of her actions. Habit. She didn’t know how to act any differently around him, than he did her. They were so programmed to understand each other’s needs, so tied together they didn’t know separate boundaries.
In that instant, the idea that tonight might degenerate into another fight became unacceptable. He clasped her hands in his, held them loosely between them. “I don’t want to argue with you tonight. I just want to be you and me. I don’t care about tomorrow, next week. Just tonight. Can we do that, Kirstin? Can you give me one more night?”
****
Kirstin’s stomach pitched so wildly, she couldn’t hold Mason’s searching gaze. She glanced at their intertwined hands, the firm way his long fingers grasped hers. He wanted the impossible. Not that the prospect of one night with Mason, their issues set aside, didn’t sound promising. But they’d be surrounded by everything that divided them. He was asking her to ignore all the things that cut her into pieces, and at the same time, leading her into an environment where she’d be forced to confront those obstacles.
He let go of one of her hands to trail the back of his knuckles down her cheek. His husky whisper washed over her skin. “You look beautiful.” Catching her chin between thumb and forefinger, he tipped her gaze to his. “I miss you, baby.” Mason swallowed visibly. “I miss us. It’s just a few hours—can we give it a try?”
Her heart lodged between her ribs, slowly drumming to a stop. Fresh eyes. Mason was reaching out in a way he never had. Because she’d called him on it?
Oh hell, what did it matter? She wanted the fantasy as much as he did. She might be at the end of her rope when it came to tolerating his insensitivity, but beneath all the angst, all the misery, she still loved Mason. A few hours of pretending couldn’t hurt half as much as the reality of where they’d come to after so many years together.
Yet, there was only one way that what he wanted could happen, and she didn’t know if he could follow through. The minute he went off with his buddies and left her to fend for himself, the blissful delusion would come to a screeching halt. Her brow puckered as she squeezed his hand. “Don’t leave me in the corner, Mason.”
His frown was sharp. The sharp jerk of his head, revealed puzzlement. “I’ve never—”
He paused, and his expression softened. “You really want me hovering at your side? Dragging you into conversations about resolving if-then loops and shadow rendering?”
It sounded foolish put so bluntly, but Kirstin’s eyes watered as emotion grabbed her by the throat. Unable to speak, she nodded.
A slow, heart-stopping smile spread across Mason’s handsome face. “Maybe I just won’t have those conversations tonight.” He gave her cheek a playful shuck. “You said you wanted me. Be careful what you ask for.”
Sliding his hand around her shoulders to the small of her back, he guided her toward the door. “Let’s get this shindig over with.”
Just for a moment, Kirstin moved back in time. The gentle press of his fingers led her out of the quagmire and escorted her back to the first Gamesquare launch party they’d attended. He’d been so nervous about having to speak in front of the crowd that he’d puked right when she finished threading his cufflinks—all over the both of them. When they finished changing clothes, he found his humor, and although they arrived late, they’d been laughing when they walked through the banquet hall doors.
They’d come home laughing as well.
Only tonight, there’d be no amusement when they climbed out of the car, and the dinner that had once been entertaining wouldn’t carry the same innocent humor. No matter how many things they chose to overlook at the launch, two facts wouldn’t go away. She had agreed to speak to Steve, and when they came home, she wouldn’t say goodnight, but instead, goodbye.
At the passenger door to the Jeep, Mason’s breath tickled her cheek. “Smile. I’ll be right here.”
As he opened the door and helped her inside, a different memory rose. Mason flopping into his plaid recliner, a beer in one hand. He’d just suggested they move in together. I’ll be right here, all the time. You won’t have to call me when the light bulb burns out and you can’t reach the light. And… He lifted his beer as if to toast his own wisdom. I’ll never run out of razor blades again because you’ve left your razor at home.
Kirstin couldn’t help herself—she burst out laughing.
“What so funny?” he asked as he slid behind the wheel and keyed the engine.
“That whole razor blade thing didn’t work out for you so well, did it?”
Chuckling, Mason dropped the Jeep into gear. His hand settled over hers. Strong fingers gently squeezed.
Chapter Ten
Beneath the St. Regis’s columned balcony, Mason turned the car over to the valet and hurried to open Kirstin’s door. Her palm slid pleasantly into his, and she set a dainty pink shoe on the ground. Smiling, she slowly stood. Overhead lighting gave the beadwork that wove between her breasts and around her neck a brilliant sparkle. Enchanting.
Fascinated by the play of colors against her skin, Mason trailed one finger over her collarbone, following the embellished strap to where it crossed in the middle of her back. Guiding her ahead of him, his hand slipped lower, across the smooth skin of her lower back, to rest against an identical strip of beading just above her tailbone. Pride surged through him as he caught the bellhop’s appreciative stare.
If she’d take her hair down, Mason would be in heaven.
Maybe he could take it down for her later tonight.
He checked the thought with an inward curse. Even if they were pretending they hadn’t spent the last two weeks apart, he couldn’t forget they had, and all the desire in the world wouldn’t guarantee Kirstin would come home to their bed.
No sense torturing himself with thoughts of just how entertaining those sparkles nestled between her breasts could be. Instead, he yielded to a different, far more simple temptation. He dipped his chin and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder.
Kirstin’s breath caught audibly, and for a moment, Mason thought she might jerk away. To his surprise, after briefly hesitating, she tipped her head and gave him a playful wink. Stepping in closer to his side, she lowered her voice to a near whisper and scolded, “No fair touching when I can’t.”
It was his turn to lose his ability to breathe. Holy crap. That was the last thing he expected to hear. Maybe a remark about how he should keep his hands to himself, maybe even a brief reminder they weren’t really together. He’d have accepted both, though they would have stung. But he hadn’t dreamed she’d flirt.
“Mason!” Don’s voice boomed through the wide front hall.
Mason pivoted to find Don making a beeline toward them. On his arm, Marie sauntered along with a wide, but fake smile. The thought that rose each time Mason saw Marie boomed through his head, trophy wife.
He thrust out his hand to accept Don’s hearty shake. “Evening, Don.” He nodded to Marie. “Marie.”
“Ah, Kirstin.” Don dropped Mason’s hand to take Kirstin’s. “You look lovely as ever. It’s so nice to see you again.”
“Hi, Don.” Her smile reflected genuine warmth, unlike the woman she gave a brief hug. “How are you, Marie?”
Marie’s laugh was as affected as her smile. “Waiting for champagne, it seems.”
“Sweetheart, why don’t the both of you go on up to the banquet hall?” Don gestured at the sweeping stairs. “Mason and I will be along in a little bit. I know how business bores you.”
Mason experienced a moment of brief panic. Less than five minutes in, and he had to navigate the one thing Kirstin requested. Her gaze jumped to his, mistrust flickering behind long dark eyelashes. Shit, he’d told her he wouldn’t have these conversations tonight. But Don was his boss…
No. He contracted for Don. He was his own boss. And he had more than enough money in the bank to live on if this went to shit.
Mason slipped his arm ar
ound Kirstin’s waist and flashed a smile at Don. “You know, Don, I’m on a date tonight.”
A raspy chuckle set off twinkling grey eyes, and Don gave Mason an irascible grin. “I’d hate to be the one to chain a man in the doghouse.” He pumped Mason’s hand again. “You two go on. Marie and I saved you a seat at our table.”
As far as Mason was concerned, a table for two in the bistro to his left would suit just fine. They could share a bottle of expensive wine. He could feed her lemon soufflé for dessert. Christ Almighty, he wanted out of this place. She’d given him one night. Spending it with a room full of computer programmers, graphical designers, and corporate big wigs was the last place on earth he’d like to be.
Kirstin reached behind her and took hold of his hand. With a gentle tug, she led him toward the stairs, spoiling his brief fantasy about corner tables and moonlight gardens and lemon soufflé. Falling into step behind her, he guided her up the sweeping staircase that resembled something from Gone With the Wind, and led her to the Ascot Ballroom. Noise filtered out the open doors, laughter, the dull rumble of conversation, tinkling glass. With the familiar din, an even more familiar quiver took up residence in his gut. Nerves. Uncomfortable, incapacitating nerves.
Innately sensing his discomfort, Kirstin stopped in front of the wide-open doors to hell and shook her hand loose. Turning around, she hooked her index fingers in his belt loops, and as she’d done since their first Gamesquare launch, she tugged his body closer to hers. Close enough that when she rose on her toes, her breasts scraped his jacket lapels. Her hips grazed his, stirring his senses into acute awareness. Then, completely obliterating his ability to think, her lips brushed his.
****
Stop. What are you doing?
Kirstin closed her eyes on the screeching voice inside her head and settled her mouth against Mason’s. She was kissing him, that’s what she was doing, and she didn’t give a damn who saw, what he thought, or how complicated it might make things. Two and a half years, six launch parties—not one had passed where she hadn’t kissed him to take his mind off the terror of giving a speech.
Misunderstanding Mason Page 8
