If she intended to stay, she never would have left him to navigate a presentation alone.
“Mason?” she asked quietly.
“I need a minute.” An eternity wouldn’t make facing what came next any easier.
The dome light hurt his eyes as she opened the door. “I’ll wait inside.”
Mason nodded.
****
Kirstin let herself into their house. She looked around, remembering the first time she walked through the front door, hand in hand with Mason, the realtor jangling a fist-full of keys. Two steps in, and she knew it was perfect. She’d already made her mind up before they reached the hallway. Her gaze stopped on the mahogany flooring, the contrast between the dark wood hallway and the light taupe carpeting in the living room still every bit as breathtaking as it had been then.
This was so not how she’d expected tonight to end. She didn’t quite know what she’d anticipated, but Mason sitting in the car, angrier than she’d ever seen him, and her wandering through their house feeling very much like a stranger, wasn’t it.
If he’d yell at her, she could better cope. Why he wasn’t, she didn’t understand. Sure, opening up wasn’t exactly his forte—caterpillars could express more emotion than Mason—but it wasn’t like him to clam up completely. Little things clued her in. He’d slam something on his desk. Mutter something beneath his breath that he didn’t want her to hear but knew she had. Flip on the sarcasm when he was really annoyed.
Absolute silence? Totally unlike Mason.
Kirstin wandered into the living room and leaned her elbows on the countertop. Maybe this was punishment—Lord knew she didn’t deserve an easy way out of this. She stared at the sink, debating a glass of water. But it somehow seemed inappropriate to wander in and make herself at home. She’d left this place. Surrendered it to Mason. She wouldn’t help herself to cupboards in Don and Marie’s house.
Fuck it. Mason was already pissed as hell. Might as well add a little more fuel to his fire.
Shoving off the countertop, she entered the kitchen and pulled a glass from the cabinet. As she turned the sink on, the front door thumped closed. Mason stopped just beyond the entry to the living room. He tossed his keys on the coffee table. Still not bothering to look at her, he eased out of his tuxedo jacket and dropped it onto the back of a leather recliner.
Kirstin hesitated, glass in one hand, water running. She glanced at the sink, glanced back at Mason. “You want a glass of water?”
“No.”
His voice lacked the fire of a man ready to explode. Flat and unemotional, the solitary answer hung between them.
Kirstin set the empty glass on the countertop and smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. So much for that idea. Maybe it would be best to just bring this night to a close. What could they say, really, that they hadn’t already? He could tell her how she’d left him hanging, she could remind him that was one of the things she’d pointed out she couldn’t stand. They could argue her expectations, beat themselves up about Lisa’s first project—and in the end, what would change?
Not a damn thing. It was just a temporary bandage.
Worse, the one night she wanted to apologize more than anything, wanted to tell him how deeply she regretted what happened, he didn’t seem to want to hear it. Plain as day, he didn’t want her around right now.
She couldn’t say she didn’t blame him. Had their roles been reversed, she wasn’t sure she’d want him standing less than five feet away.
She tightened her grip on her purse. Glanced at the patio door. “I should go.”
Mason said nothing as he went to the fridge, pulled out a beer, and popped it open. He rounded the countertop, returning to the living room. One hip leaning on the polished granite, he stared at the rim of the bottle, but didn’t drink.
Right. No argument. No protest. Just like the last time she said goodbye. Only this time, he wasn’t saying they should split the bank accounts. No, they’d done all that. There was nothing left to say. She’d call him tomorrow and wrap up the final details on Lisa’s project. Then, she’d make it easier on both of them and go to her dad’s.
As her eyes watered, Kirstin reached for the door handle.
“Did you give the project to Steve?”
Almost inaudible, Mason’s hoarse whisper stilled her hand.
****
Mason stared at Kirstin’s profile, his throat so tight he couldn’t hope to suck down the drink he desperately needed. She stood less than four feet away, and an ocean separated them. An ocean of things he didn’t understand completely, but he’d come closer to understanding tonight than he’d ever been. He didn’t care about the presentation. It was a thing, insignificant in the scope of life. He’d either move beyond it, or Don would never ask him to speak again. Either way, he didn’t care.
What he cared about was the woman standing in front of him. The dreams they’d built, the history they shared. If she walked out that door, something deep inside him would die.
Slowly, Kirstin turned to look at him. Her watery gaze only made it more difficult to believe there was some way he could fix this mess. Something he could do that would rewind time and never bring them to this disastrous point.
“Mason, I…”
She paused, her gaze searching his, revealing all the regret she harbored.
In that instant, Mason didn’t care. Whether she’d hired Steve, whether she was saying goodbye—he couldn’t bear to hear her answer. One stride closed the intolerable distance between them. Driven by a hand he couldn’t see, he grabbed her by the wrist and spun her around. Before the surprise could leave her eyes, he tangled his hands in her loose hair and caught her in a desperate kiss.
Chapter Thirteen
Mason’s mouth was bruising, the pull of his fingers painful. But the hungry stroke of his tongue, the harshness of his breath against her cheek, connected with an equally desperate portion of Kirstin’s soul, and she yielded to his assaulting kiss. Welcomed it. Her hands gripped his shoulders. She lifted to her toes, tangling her tongue with his in the same frenetic manner.
They’d shared passion. Sometimes even angry passion. Now and then sex had even been combative. But no kiss of Mason’s had ever included such absolute disregard and abandon.
Nor such absolute gut emotion.
He was hurting, and that aching need called out to her anguished heart, making it impossible to do anything but answer.
Mason’s weight sank into her, throwing her off balance. They stumbled together until her back hit the door and the cool glass pressed against her exposed skin. There, his mouth softened. He caught her lower lip between his, teased it with the tip of his tongue, then slowly let go.
The hard rasp of his breath filled her ears as he pressed his forehead to hers and held her gaze. In those icy blues, turmoil collided, a gathering storm of feeling Mason had never shown her before. He curled his fingers against her scalp, his hands not quite sharing the same generosity that had come over his mouth. His ragged exhale held a chafing edge.
“Don’t fucking leave me.”
Rendered speechless by the raw feeling in his hoarse voice, Kirstin stared at his darkly handsome face. Unbearable lines of pain etched through his expression, twisting her to pieces. She lifted a hand to trace one tight cheek, the faint creases at the corner of his eyes. Then, she did the only thing she knew that could take those marks away. She brought her other hand from his shoulder to his cheek, and gently framing his face between her palms, pressed her lips to his.
His mouth moved beneath hers, seeking, struggling, nudging her back to that impatient place of insecurity and desperation. But Kirstin kept the play of her lips slow, unhurried, silently assuring him it was okay. She wasn’t going anywhere. He could relax. Breathe.
Feel.
Gradually, Mason grasped the message. His fingers loosened in her hair, pulled free to pluck the pins and send the long lengths tumbling around her shoulders. She parted her lips at the light press of his tongu
e. Met his slow strokes with her own. Where heartache had constricted her chest moments before, pleasure crept in to expand her lungs and loosen the painful fist around her heart.
Mason grazed his knuckles across her shoulder, down the length of her arm. Feather-light, the prolonged caress pebbled her skin with goose bumps. She breathed deeply to stave down a chill, and Mason’s clean scent filled her head. At the same time, his hand flattened against her hip. Heat soaked through silk.
Yes, feel.
When he touched her, all the racket in her head silenced. Questions found answers, injuries healed. Her heart sailed home.
His hand inched along her side, over her ribs to her breast. Kirstin arched into the firm press of his warm palm. Their bodies touched, retreated.
The want she felt for him right now surpassed every desire he’d ever aroused. By the way he held himself in check, the deliberateness of his stirring touch, she knew he felt the same fierce need. Mason wouldn’t rush. After the distance that had spanned between them, he’d want to take his time bringing them back together.
Which made the magic in his fingertips, the languid way he rolled her nipple beneath his thumb unbearable. Kirstin slid her hands down the front of his shirt, plucking at buttons, exposing his smooth taut skin. When she’d unbuttoned him to the waist, she tucked her hands beneath the starched cotton and reveled in the warmth beneath her hands. Thirty-five, and Mason hadn’t let a bit of time catch up to him. Her fingertips moved over corrugated strength, and he drew in a sharp breath.
Breaking the kiss, he leaned away and gazed into her eyes. Through lowered lashes, he held her stare as he laved her breast. Shivers coursed through Kirstin. The dance floor had been erotic, but the silent messages in Mason’s eyes made their sensual dance seem small.
His body sank into hers, and his hardened male flesh brushed against her sensitive center for a heart stopping, all too fleeting moment. As her hips arced forward, chasing after the pleasure he offered, he leaned away. With his free hand, he traced the beaded strap on her gown. His gaze followed the path of his fingers, scorching in its dark intensity.
Then, as if Mason couldn’t tolerate the separation of their bodies, he wound his arms around her waist, gathered her to his chest, and trailed kisses down the side of her neck. She clung to him, afraid somehow this magic would disappear, afraid if she let go she’d still be standing by the patio door, preparing to walk out once more.
His fingers fumbled with her zipper, exposing the skin beneath to cool air. Breathless, she waited for the top to fall, the freedom of silk gathering at her waist before it pooled on the floor. Encouraging him to release the clasp at the back of her neck, she pushed his shirt off his shoulders.
Mason’s soft chuckle dusted across the side of her neck. In between the teasing touch of his mouth, he whispered, “How do I get this thing off you? I don’t want to ruin it.”
The sound of his voice restored her ability to think. Smiling, she pushed at his shoulders, creating a space she despised between their bodies. His eyes sparked as she reached behind her neck.
“Like this.” Kirstin unfastened the two buttons at her neck, and the halter clasps gave. Soft pink fabric hung on her taut breasts for a heartbeat, then slid all the way to the floor. She stood before Mason wearing only her thong underwear and high heels.
His eyes touched every inch of her skin as he pulled his arms out of his sleeves and tossed his shirt aside. The intimate caress stoked the warmth in her blood to uncomfortable limits. She squirmed, wanting his touch, craving the feel of his strong hands.
Mason, however, had other things in mind. He didn’t gather her breasts, didn’t bring her body flush with his, didn’t dip his head and tease her with his mouth. No, he didn’t offer any of the things she yearned for. Instead, with one solitary finger, he traced her collarbone, followed the soft rise of her full breasts down to the hardened bud of her nipples, then lower to the sensitive crease beneath. She sucked in short bursts of air, trembled as she tried to exhale.
Memories blended with sensation, combining visions of the similar way he’d memorized her body the first night he made love to her with the tantalizing reality of his thorough exploration. With the pads of his fingers, he explored the contours of her ribs, dipped lower to brand a trail of fire across her quivering abdomen.
Oh, sweet heaven.
Sense failed her. The nagging urge to delight in her own explorations of his body subsided beneath the mind-numbing caress. She couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. Every nerve ending rose to attention, honed in on the lazy stroke of his fingertips, until she couldn’t tolerate another moment and bit her lip on a quiet moan.
Against her belly, Mason’s fingers trembled. He exhaled with a hiss.
Her gaze snapped to his face. His restraint was evidenced by the strain in his expression, the measured way he kept his eyes closed and concentrated on his breathing. But as if he sensed her stare, he lifted his eyes, and his smoldering gaze locked with hers. Slowly, deliberately, he slipped his fingertips beneath the thin line of fabric at her waist, lower to the moistened flesh between her legs. One slow, deliberate stroke nearly brought her to her knees. She reached out for Mason, steadied herself on his biceps.
With a low, guttural groan, Mason pulled his hand away, wound both around her, and dragged her flush against his overheated body. His mouth fastened on hers, insistent and hungry. Back-stepping, he pulled her away from the patio doors, guided her to the center of their living room. When he stopped, one hand tangled in the hair at the back of her head, the other held her in place.
Kirstin returned his kiss with equal need. She couldn’t get enough of him. Couldn’t touch him in enough places at one time. Hands seeking, mouth questing, she sought fulfillment to the ache his masterful touch had sparked. She needed him. Every hard inch of him. Gliding against her, filling her up… She groaned.
“Mason.” Desperate to stop the blissful torment, she clenched her hands in his tight buttocks and ground her hips into his. Shocks of ecstasy tripped down her spine.
“Fuck,” he whispered in surrender.
****
The oath tumbled off Mason’s lips before he could stop it. But damn, Kirstin had him so worked up he couldn’t hang on to his desire to take his time and make love to her the way he wanted to. Nice and slow. Build her up until she teetered on the edge, then take her there again and guide her over.
Not possible anymore. She’d just snapped his control in half.
Sinking to his knees, he took her with him. Her hands worked at his belt, metal jangled in the quiet. Her mouth scampered across his shoulder, hovered at the side of his neck. The graze of her teeth nearly made him come right then, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek until pain overrode impending release.
But when she pushed his trousers over his hips and took his swollen erection in her hands, Mason’s body coiled like a spring. He couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting forward as she squeezed.
“Baby,” he exhaled sharply.
As a rule, he greatly appreciated the five years of knowledge she possessed. But tonight he cursed her masterful fingers and her swift ability to manipulate him beyond reason. If he didn’t find a way to stop the ecstasy that rushed down his spine and pooled in his cock, he was in deep trouble.
Jerking back out of her reach, he took her hands and raised them to her shoulders. As he dipped his head and captured a turgid nipple between his teeth, he pressed her to the carpet. She arched her back, writhed against the swirl of his tongue. Squirmed to regain the use of her hands.
Mason pushed them above her head, then held both wrists in one hand. The other he cupped around a breast, kneading as he laved the first with his mouth and tongue. God he’d missed how good her skin tasted. How warm her flesh was beneath his lips.
He yearned for the intimate taste of her against his tongue, but that was an impossibility now. He wouldn’t make it that long. Glancing up at her hands, he deliberately nudged her fingertips against the co
ffee table leg. He wouldn’t make it to undressing her the rest of the way if he had to fight her seeking fingers, and when Kirstin reached this point, she liked to cling to something. She took his signal and grabbed onto the wood, granting him the ability to kneel between her parted thighs. Sensing his intent, she bent one knee.
Mason cupped her calf, unfastened the tiny buckle around her ankle, and slipped her pastel pink heel off. When he’d done the same with the other foot, she lifted her hips, allowing him to peel away her flimsy thong.
Another night, he would have taken his time, teased the worthless scrap off with his teeth. Another night, he’d have found the ability to speak while he enjoyed the treasures of her body. But not tonight. Too much time had passed between them since they last made love, and their intimate dance earlier had already taken a significant toll. The quiet was also safe. He couldn’t say the wrong thing, couldn’t spoil the perfect magic between them.
She must have shared the same thought—it had been a long, long time since Kirstin encouraged him without words.
Drawing in a jagged breath, Mason shed the rest of his clothing. Hands braced at her shoulders, he lowered his body against hers and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. She turned her head, gave him a heart-stopping smile.
And then her hands slid up his chest, to his shoulders, into his hair. Drawing him closer, melding her body against his. His heart slammed into his ribs as her warm wet flesh slipped along his throbbing cock. His breath caught. His body tensed.
The teasing sweep of her tongue across his lower lip grounded him once more. Mason angled his hips, and in one prolonged thrust sank deep inside her swollen flesh. Pleasure tripped down his spine.
This was the homecoming he needed. The place where everything was right and good and the language they both spoke required no translator. He sank to his elbows, surrendering to the primal need of desire. Slow, steady thrusts brought Kirstin’s back off the floor. Her mewls of satisfaction saturated his already hazy head, making him dizzy with the same all-consuming need.
Misunderstanding Mason Page 11
