She told herself she did it for his sake, not because she simply couldn’t tolerate another minute of ignoring the pleasant friction of his hand against the small of her back. That he needed the distraction, and her impulse had nothing to do with the soul-deep hunger his cologne aroused. He’d followed through with her by excusing himself from Don, now it was her turn to repay the favor.
Mason’s mouth caught hers and forbade all hope of a quick retreat. His hands settled at her waist, fingers curling tight into her skin.
Repay the favor—right.
Kirstin surrendered to the slow perusal of his mouth, the warm velvet of his tongue as it traced her lower lip. Her pulse ratcheted up by several degrees, and she gripped his waist hard to keep from stumbling.
Mason.
She parted her lips, hesitantly touched the tip of her tongue to his. Shockwaves coursed through her, and Kirstin drew back in a gasp. Mason’s firm grip on her waist kept her from topping backwards in her high heels. A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. She glanced up at his intense blue eyes, their surroundings slowly sinking into her awareness. Heat crept into her cheeks, a subtle flush that mirrored the self-conscious way his lop-sided grin twitched at one corner.
Relaxing his fingers, he held her loosely until she gained her balance. Then, he bent to her ear, his voice low and intimate. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
God, yes, it did. So good she’d completely forgotten they blocked the middle of the doorway into the banquet hall. All she’d intended was a chaste brush. A peck, no more. But damn, two weeks away from Mason, and evidently, she’d lost all ability to control herself.
With a brief nod of affirmation, Kirstin eased out of Mason’s hands. His fingers caught hers, a pleasant grasp that warmed her from palm to shoulder. Acting on its own, her body gravitated toward his.
Hand in hand, they walked across the wide dining hall, savoring the silence that lay between them, even as the noise of the room became engulfing. This was how it had been the first time they strolled through this ballroom. Mason too wrapped up in nerves to speak, she too self-conscious to know what to say. Back then, they’d had different reasons to fall into quiet. Tonight, Mason’s hands didn’t shake in hers, and she no longer waded through a room of complete strangers. The silence had become comfortable.
“You hungry?” he asked as they approached the head table.
“Not really.”
Mason came to a dead stop, and his gaze crept toward the polished dance floor where a handful of couples danced to smooth jazz. “You want to dance?”
Kirstin blinked. “What? Mason, you don’t dance.”
Didn’t dance put it nicely. Mason’s two left feet were identical twins to hers.
His eyes lighted with mischief. “Neither do you.”
“So why would you even ask? I mean, I’m all for entertainment, but I’d rather not be the main event.”
Slowly, deliberately, his appreciative gaze skimmed along the length of her body. Her skin heated where those icy blues lingered, warming her from the outside in. Arousal skittered through her veins, laced into her blood. She knew that look. Knew it by heart. And she knew exactly where it led. Primal, animal instinct rose to answer the suggestion behind his eyes, and moisture gathered between her legs.
Mason stepped closer, the toe of his dress shoe between her high heels, his thigh brushing the soft folds of her gown. “If we move real slow, no one will notice.”
Chills raced down Kirstin’s spine. She was flirting with danger. Something far more deadly than standard TNT. That close to Mason? Touching in all the places they shouldn’t, forbidden by a sea of his peers and coworkers to let it go to their heads?
“Okay.” The breathless whisper escaped before she could swallow it down.
He led her to the far side of the dance floor before she could remember all the reasons this was a bad idea, and his strong arms encircled her waist. Taking time to enjoy the hard lines of his upper body, she slid her hands up his jacket lapels to his shoulders. One gentle tug, and Mason aligned her body with his. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Where their abdomens touched, silk slid across her skin.
Heaven.
Kirstin sighed in contentment.
But as Mason took a shuffle step to the cadence of the music, she became aware of far more than just the comfort of his protective embrace. The hand that held her close at the small of her back pressed even closer. He splayed his fingers, dipped one beneath the loose fabric, and stroked the hollow of her spine. Where their hips joined, the long hard length of him brushed against her moistened feminine flesh.
Kirstin’s senses reeled at the shocking, intimate caress. It was all she could do to not dig her nails into Mason’s shoulders just to stay on her feet. A shudder rolled through her.
“Mason,” she whispered into the starched fabric of his shirt.
“Shh.” Dropping his hand a fraction, he bent her body into his and supported her in his arms.
****
Mason’s world spun on a sideways axis. He didn’t know how long he and Kirstin had been shuffling in a circle, moving to the slow rhythm and blues. But his body was tighter than glass and every bit as fragile. One well placed tap, and he’d shatter into pieces.
Good thing he’d chosen the far side of the dance floor where the chandeliers cast shadows on the inlaid wood and observant eyes couldn’t witness their seductive dance. They were hardly moving now, the sweet pain of touching having brought them both to the edge. It took all his self-control to not fist his hands into her bottom and thrust into her high and hard. To keep the tenseness in his muscles from making him so stiff he couldn’t move at all. He couldn’t touch her the way he wanted, couldn’t make a hasty exit. Nor could he bring himself to lead her off the dance floor and separate himself from the soft press of her gentle curves. And though frustrating to the point of agony, it was the most erotic encounter he’d ever known.
That Kirstin shared his barely-tempered desire made it even more so.
One hand pressed flat over his hammering heart, her head lay against his chest. Her breath came out in short, acute gasps that mirrored the sharp breaths he struggled to pull in.
He moved again, deliberately stroking himself against her sensitive feminine nub, and Kirstin shuddered in his arms. Ever so slightly, her nails pinched into his pectoral. Torment and bliss—he couldn’t separate them any longer. Christ, he was making love to her in front of everyone, and he hadn’t removed a single stitch of clothing.
Mason tucked his cheek against her hair and whispered, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking about you.”
The languid melody of her voice told him she’d reached that point where logic and reason couldn’t interfere and words came from that place he understood. That place where they were lovers and nothing had ever come between them. He nuzzled her hair, hoping he wouldn’t do too much damage to the loosely piled locks. “What about me?”
“Mmm.” Kirstin pressed her hips forward and rubbed against his throbbing cock. “How much I want to make love to you.”
Shuffling so his back was to the long line of tables and hers faced the nearby wall, he covered the hand atop his heart with his own. He gave her fingers a little squeeze. “We are.”
“No, not like that.” She let out a soft husky laugh. “This is teasing. I can’t…you know…let go.”
Drawn to the sweet curve of her neck where it met her shoulder, he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to her skin. “Sure you can. I’m the only one who’ll know.” Encouraging her, he shifted his hips for more direct stimulation.
This time, Kirstin’s fingernails did bite into his chest. From his peripheral vision, he caught the way her teeth sank into her lower lip. Five years of memorizing Kirstin’s responses told him she was barely hanging on to her control.
“You’re almost there already, baby,” he whispered against her shoulder. He could go on like this a good while yet, but the time for his speech was ap
proaching, and the part of him that delighted in her pleasure urged him to push her all the way.
Using the music to his advantage, he coordinated the push of his hips with the bluesy rhythm and laced his fingers through hers. “Close your eyes,” he murmured as he settled his cheek against her hair again. “Imagine the way it feels when I slide in and out of you. My skin against yours.”
She shuddered again, and her hand clenched around his.
“How it feels when I’m buried deep.” Guiding her closer with pressure on the small of her back, he coaxed her to indulge in sweet release. “The heat of my tongue sliding through your flesh.”
His voice did its own damage to his mind as visions of his suggestions flashed behind his eyes. Maybe this hadn’t been the brightest idea he’d ever had, because he wasn’t entirely certain he would make it off the dance floor without doing something that would embarrass them both. Nevertheless, the forbidden idea of Kirstin orgasming in front of everyone, with only the two of them sharing the secret, spurred him on.
He shifted his hips again, and Kirstin clung to his hand. Behind her clenched teeth, a barely audible whimper broke free. Mason’s cock pulsed at the telltale sign that she’d sailed over the edge into bliss. He took a deep breath, held it while he willed his body to wait. Time suspended, the music soaked into his bones.
When Kirstin went limp in his arms and she rubbed her cheek against his chest with a soft smile, Mason stepped back a fraction, creating some very necessary space between their bodies. Still, he made no attempt to escort her from the dance floor. She liked to revel in the languid aftermath of climax. He wouldn’t deny her that simple peace, even if Don’s voice rumbled over the microphone, signaling dinner had transformed into the formal announcement of Gamesquare’s newest launch.
Besides, he held a particular fondness for the memory of how it felt to lay in her arms, spent and exhausted, slowly descending from the heights of mutual ecstasy.
Chapter Eleven
Like a leaf drifting on a lazy autumn breeze, Kirstin floated back into her body from that magical place only Mason and she knew existed. The dying notes of a sensual saxophone melted into Don’s rumbling bass and the unsteady rhythm of Mason’s heart beneath her ear. She tipped her face up to give him a smile. “That was so wrong.”
His chuckle reverberated against her cheek. “Yeah, but it was damned fun.”
Mmm. Yes, it was. Too bad she couldn’t have given him the same exquisite pleasure.
“Are you hungry yet? I think it’s dessert time.”
On cue, her stomach rumbled.
“Guess that answers that.” Mason dipped his head and dusted a light kiss across her cheek before he slid his hands off her body and clasped her by the hand.
Kirstin quickly checked the front of her gown, subtly gave her panties a tug, then fell into step behind him. A giggle inched its way up her throat. Who’d known a Gamesquare launch could turn into an erotic paradise?
Understanding her humor, Mason gave her hand a squeeze. It occurred to her then, just how well he could read her. Times like this, and in the car, it was like they shared the same brain wave. Other times—the ones she felt were most important—they resided on different planets. Not Venus and Mars—those were too close together. Try Mercury and Pluto.
Alien and Terrestrial.
As she and Mason took their chairs at the table, the waiter appeared at her side. “Champagne, miss? Wine, perhaps?” He set a dessert menu in front of her. “Dessert?”
“I’ll take a glass of champagne, and…” She quickly scanned the six-item list. “A chocolate caramel bar.”
Mason shot her a sexy grin, glanced over the top of her head and said, “I’ll have the same.”
As the waiter disappeared, Kirstin dipped her hand beneath the table and set it on Mason’s leg. She playfully tickled the inside of his knee, tuning her attention to Don’s perfunctory speech.
“…ten years of gaming success through three international markets, we’ve had the good fortune to become a leader in advanced techniques, unequivocal artistic design, and rapid technological advances.”
From the corner of her eye, Kirstin studied Mason, a slow pleasurable burn settling into her blood. Five years ago, he’d been begging for opportunity, barely surviving with a small, inventive, but little known private gaming corporation. Through countless hours of dedication and a sheer obsession with achieving his dreams, he’d caught Don’s attention at a convention in LA two and a half years ago. A week later, he was at the bottom of Gamesquare’s totem pole, a contractor hired only for side work that no one else cared to do.
Now, he was their lead designer. The first man they approached for their major pushes. He passed piddly work to grunts who held his former position, and most startling, he’d worked his way into Don’s heart.
Kirstin knew nothing but pride when it came to Mason. She might have been his sacrifice, but he’d worked hard to make a name for himself. A name people throughout the industry recognized.
She rubbed his thigh, drawing his attention away from Don. Icy blue eyes locked with hers. Affection burned bright, fringed with a lingering touch of unrequited desire. Kirstin’s heart swelled.
I love you.
Though she kept the confession to herself, she willed him to hear the trumpet of her heart in the gentle squeeze of her hand.
Mason leaned sideways and kissed her cheek.
Edging them apart, the waiter returned with their order. He reached between their near-touching shoulders to present their desserts and fill their glasses. Bubbles burst over the rim of the fine crystal. “Would you care for anything else?”
“No, thank you,” Mason answered for them both.
Kirstin sipped as she tuned back in to Don.
“On this, the tenth anniversary of Gamesquare’s establishment, the Board and I decided to take you all through a journey.” The lights dimmed. A projector flashed to life on the screen behind Don’s head. “Some of you, who’ve been with us from the beginning, will recognize the place where it all started. For the rest of you, I’d like to show you just how far we’ve come from a four-desk office in the basement of my house.”
With a press of a button, a dingy, one-room, rectangular cellar appeared, nothing like the finished, six-room basement monstrosity Don and Marie now owned. Squashed end to end, four rickety metal desks lined one wall. The other held giant computers that were dinosaurs to their modern counterparts.
A hand fell onto Kirstin’s left shoulder. Startled, she twisted around as Steve Whitmore hunkered down at her side. Blond hair drooped over one eye, and the smile he flashed was blinding white. “While Don’s embarking down memory lane, do you want to step outside and discuss a few things?”
Shit. Not now. Not after the intense closeness she’d established with Mason on the dance floor. Not after Mason had excused himself from Don.
“Ah,” she fumbled as she grabbed for an excuse. “I don’t want to be rude while Don’s giving a presentation.”
Steve scoffed. “Come on, Miss Manners.” He took hold of her elbow. “No one’s paying attention anyway. He won’t notice, he’s too busy entertaining himself.”
Before Kirstin could protest, Steve levered her out of her chair. She tugged on her arm, but he held fast, making it impossible to argue without creating a scene. Nevertheless, she couldn’t just walk out of the room without at least one more try. “Mason’s presenting Rise of Orchomenus in a few minutes, Steve. I don’t want to miss it.”
She didn’t dare be gone for that. Mason might grumble if she left Don’s pictorial history, but he’d flat out strangle her if she left him to give his speech alone.
“We’ll be back by then. This won’t take but a few minutes.”
As Steve pulled on her arm, she tossed Mason an apologetic glance. His gaze narrowed infinitesimally, but the dip of his head accepted her departure. With nothing left to do but follow, Kirstin allowed Steve to lead her out of the ballroom, down the corridor, and to the lo
unge at the far end of the hall. He took a seat on the settee, gestured at the chair across the knee-high table. When Kirstin settled into the mint green cushion, Steve reached into his lapel pocket and withdrew several folded sheets of paper.
Meticulously, he smoothed the creases and laid the pages side by side. “I was thinking, since Edge Skateboards markets to the active teenage boy, we’d go with an interactive game. And what fits skateboards best? A skatepark.” He tapped the black and white hand-sketch of a miniature landscape complete with ramp, obstacles, and little humps Kirstin couldn’t define.
She leaned her elbows on the table and squinted at the design. This looked ten times more complicated than Mason’s simple design.
“Each activity, as we’ll call it, will take the user through a three-second module that will lead them into the options to view products related to that activity, or to go straight to the gaming component.” One by one, he tapped the different areas on his mini-map. Returning to the first item, the concave ramp, he held his index finger on it. “For instance, here, a tap of the finger will activate a skater turning tricks on the ramp, and then we’ll lead them to protective wear—helmets, guards, pads, and so forth.”
Whoo-boy. If he intended to walk her through all five objects on the tiny map, this would take a while. She lifted her gaze to give him a polite smile. “I don’t really need all the details tonight. Why don’t you just tell me how you see my work fitting in?”
Steve tapped the paper again. “I’m getting there.”
****
For the dozenth time in as many minutes, Mason’s gaze strayed to the firmly shut banquet room doors. Where the hell was Kirstin?
That she’d done the one thing she’d made him promise not to burned, but it didn’t sting as much as the fact that she’d been gone twenty minutes now at least, and Don was wrapping up his presentation. Which meant he would have to speak next.
Misunderstanding Mason Page 9
