Ecstasy built. Mounted. Urged him into her harder, faster. She met the demands of his body eagerly. Locking one foot around the back of his knee to hold her body against his, Kirstin cried out. Her sweet voice filled his head, sending shocks of hot and cold ripping down his spine that pushed him headlong into bliss. He gave in to release with a low groan.
As his senses slowly returned, Mason dropped his head to her shoulder and let out a contented sigh. She sank into the carpet, her limbs limp. For several moments, they did nothing but lie entangled in one another, too weak to move, too overcome to speak. Then, Mason slipped his hands beneath her back and rolled her onto his chest. Catching her chin in his palm, he tipped her head up to kiss each delicate cheekbone.
“I love you,” he whispered.
The slow smile that lighted first in her eyes, then spread over her swollen mouth, made his heart skip a beat.
“I love you, too, Mason.”
Feeling like normalcy had finally been restored, Mason gave her bottom a playful squeeze. “Shall we take this to the bedroom?”
“Mmm.” She dipped her head and placed a lingering kiss in the center of his chest. Her breath tickled his skin as she whispered, “Yeah.”
Chapter Fourteen
Kirstin woke with a start, her chest tight, her heart pounding. She inched upright in bed and hugged her knees to her bare chest. Something had seriously misfired in her brain. She’d made love to Mason, not once, but twice. She’d told him she loved him…not once, but twice. For all intents and purposes, she’d given him a reconciliation when she wasn’t convinced they could make it work.
Worrying a hand through her hair, she shook out the tangles and sighed. Mason deserved a heck of a lot better than that.
There were still so many things they needed to work through. Tonight was a good start. But how much of tonight would last? How much would end up being just going through the motions to dodge a painful, but necessary end?
He shifted in his sleep, interrupting her train of thought. His hand brushed her ankle, covered the top of her foot. Then, he mumbled something unintelligible, and lapsed into comatose silence.
For once, Kirstin was glad he didn’t wake up and try to soothe her midnight worries. She needed to come to terms herself, figure out what worked for her, not them, and with Mason’s arms around her, she couldn’t find the necessary distance.
With tangled covers and the broad expanse of Mason’s naked back reminding her of all the things they’d done tonight, she couldn’t think in this bed either.
Careful not to jostle the mattress, Kirstin slid off the edge. Cool air kissed her skin, making her shiver, and she wrapped her arms around her bare body to ward off the chill. Damn it, she should have known she’d fail in her quest to leave Mason and make at least one overnight return. Instead, she’d taken all her clothes to Theresa’s. Even her bathrobe.
Which left her to warm up in Mason’s wardrobe. Only, the closet squeaked like its hinges were made two centuries ago. Opening the door would wake him up. And like her, he’d left all his clothes in the living room.
Crap.
She gave the quilt at the foot of the bed a tug. It caught dangerously on Mason’s ankle, and he muttered something else she couldn’t decipher. No luck there.
Oh well, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d streaked through the house naked. Except she’d wanted to think a while. Not dash back in here and take cover against his warm body under the blankets. Her gaze fell on the dresser, and hope sparked. The closet was out, but Mason kept his boxers in the drawer.
Kirstin tiptoed across the room. She eased the drawer open and pulled out the first pair of cotton shorts her hand encountered. She nearly giggled when she shook out the bright orange, jack-o-lantern pair she’d given him as a gag gift some time ago.
Still, they were soft, and promised warmth. She pulled them on and bent the waistband over to keep them from falling off her narrow hips. They threatened to fall, nevertheless. Muttering beneath her breath, Kirstin grabbed the elastic in one hand and hurried out the door into the pitch-black hallway.
Three steps down the hall, she stepped on something sharp. She jerked her foot back and clamped her teeth over an oath seconds before it burst free. “Damn,” she muttered as she rubbed the ball of her heel. Good grief, it would seem the fates conspired to keep her in the bedroom. Maybe she should take this as a sign. Go back to bed. Talk things over with Mason in the morning after they’d both had a chance to sleep on things.
No. While the idea sounded nice, she needed to come to terms before she could think of sleep. At the very least, she needed that glass of water she’d been denied earlier. Her throat was so dry she would swear she’d swallowed sandpaper.
When the stinging pain in her foot ebbed, Kirstin bent over and ran her hand across the floor, searching for the offending object. Something hard and cold bounced off her fingertip, then skittered beyond her reach.
Biting back a string of curses, she dropped to her hands and knees. With only the dim light from the timer-operated lamp in the distant living room to guide her, she crawled along, patting the floor, sliding her hand along the seam where baseboard met the wall.
Several feet down from the bedroom, her hand encountered the culprit. She closed her fingers around it and squinted into the dark. Through the shadows, all she could make was the basic outline of a ring.
Hers?
Certainly not Mason’s. It fit on her middle finger.
For one nonsensical moment, the word Lisa flickered in her thoughts. She dismissed the ridiculous idea with a scolding frown and eased back to her feet. Mason hadn’t cheated, no matter what Steve wanted her to believe. In the first place, Mason was never away from the house long enough or without making it clear where he was going, for suspicion to take root. Secondly, he despised Lisa. Going one step further—Mason wasn’t into older women. All other factors aside, if he were to ever cheat, it would be with some nubile college girl.
But he wouldn’t, and nothing could convince her otherwise.
Kirstin trudged down the hall, making her way to the offset living room and the light within. When she stepped through the doorway, she quickly donned Mason’s tuxedo jacket. The shoulders were so wide she’d need football pads to fill it out, and the cuffs drooped past her fingertips, but at least it was warm.
Now, to see about the ring.
She moved to the lamp, pushed her sleeves up, and held the ring beneath the dim light. A princess-cut diamond, mounted in a worn, yellow gold wedding set glinted with tiny shards of fire.
Kirstin’s breath caught. Her mother’s wedding ring—she’d recognize it anywhere. The one and a half carat diamond wedding band had six, channel set diamonds on each side. Soldered onto it, a matching band of channel cut diamonds added sparkle to the already beautiful single band—fifteen diamonds. Not part of a wedding set, but her father’s gift on their fifteenth wedding anniversary.
Though she knew the ring in an instant, she turned it over and squinted at the inside of the band. 4-14-77
Tears brimmed. She and her dad had fought bitterly over whether to bury this ring with her mother. She’d vowed Mom would roll over in her grave if it was left behind. Her father, however, insisted someday Kirstin would regret putting it in the ground.
Oh, God, what was her mother’s wedding ring doing on the hallway floor?
The instantaneous answer drew her gaze to the dark hallway—Mason.
Kirstin’s knees threatened to give out, and she quickly sank into the chair. How? Why?
She let out a sharp gasp, as the unbelievable why clicked into place. Not Mason… He hadn’t been planning… Wow.
Stunned, Kirstin closed her fingers around the ring and huddled into his jacket. Mason Montgomery had planned to propose. Ho-ly shit. She’d have never believed it was possible. But there could be no other explanation for how her mother’s wedding ring had ended up in this house. Since her death, this diamond had been in her father’s safety deposit box.
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Which meant Daddy knew.
And was expecting her to announce an engagement, not show up single on his doorstep.
Mason wanted to marry her—chills wafted down her spine. Marry her. Together. Forever. Death do they part.
She’d wanted that too. Until Lisa came along and made Mason’s flaws impossible to ignore. Kirstin blinked. Steve’s caustic voice boomed in her head. She hired you to get to Mason.
Why, that lying, conniving, deceitful bitch.
All along, she’d fed Kirstin just enough poison to get under her skin and plant a seed of doubt. A seed that took life, grew, and did exactly what Lisa intended it would. Only, Kirstin hadn’t quite cooperated with Lisa’s plan—she hadn’t bailed on Mason before Lisa ran out of opportunities to make her move.
He locks himself up in that office day after day, hour after hour, how you can deal with it, I don’t know. It’s like he doesn’t even care if you’re here.
Shit.
Kirstin buried her face in her too-long sleeves to dampen a groan. At first, she’d dismissed Lisa’s remarks. Then, as little things happened that coincided too neatly with her observations, Kirstin convinced herself she was justifying Mason’s actions. Which of course, Lisa didn’t hesitate to point out. Kirstin’s heart had known all along, her head just had too many voices in it to listen to the truth.
Truths like, Mason knew her well enough to know how many cups of coffee she needed before she could function. He paid close enough attention to know their favorite Chinese place by heart. He understood little remarks other men, who’d spent twice as long with their partners, would miss. When it mattered, Mason didn’t roll over and quit—he fought for what he wanted.
Unlike Lisa’s husband, who wasn’t so in love with her he took her everywhere. Tom was a puppet, too weak to stand on his own, content to let his wife lead him around by the nose. And Don and Marie—while Kirstin enjoyed them immensely, they didn’t have the happy marriage Lisa alluded to. Marie was in it for the money. Don stayed because she made the perfect trophy wife.
Kirstin’s heart beat faster as the depths of her wrongs surfaced. Mason hadn’t changed. He hadn’t done one damn thing wrong. She had. His failing to come to bed with her happened every time she burned the midnight oil on a project. He’d done the same thing when she was taking classes. The same. Damn. Thing. So she could sleep. Because he wouldn’t wake her up if she was out, and Mason couldn’t ignore the fact she slept in the nude.
Oh, God. Her throat cinched tight.
After failing to appear for his presentation tonight, she didn’t think she could disappoint him further. And yet, she had. Even if he didn’t know it, she’d been disappointing him for the last year. Looking for faults that didn’t exist. Blowing them up with her imagination.
Expecting him to be something he wasn’t, when she’d fallen in love with the way he was. Yes, he should have told her about Lisa’s proposition. But that was Mason. See a problem, fix it. No need to dwell, no need for drama. Solution found, move on.
And the leaving her to herself at events…well… yeah…that he pretty much sucked at. But she wasn’t as miserable as Lisa convinced her she ought to be. Even if she didn’t have many people to talk to, the pride she felt over Mason’s success overruled all her discomfort. Two, maybe three nights a year, she had to fend for herself in an uncomfortable situation. Big damn deal.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, the reality of how unfair she’d been to him hitting her square in the belly. How did she make up for that kind of wrong? How did she confess her screw-ups without hurting him more?
All he’d wanted was an explanation. No wonder he didn’t understand. She’d held him to a different standard than the one they’d agreed on when they went on their first date and she’d made love to him in that perfectly horrible chair.
While she’d been condemning him, he’d been planning to propose.
A sob wrenched free, and Kirstin huddled into the arm of the leather recliner. She didn’t know how to apologize for this degree of betrayal. Mason should have walked out on her, not the other way around.
****
Mason opened his eyes to find the pillow beside him empty. He inched onto one elbow, and glanced around the dark bedroom. When he didn’t spy light seeping beneath the master bathroom door, he felt the sheets beside him. The cool cloth sent his pulse into staccato rhythm.
She couldn’t have left.
Though he longed to believe Kirstin wouldn’t run away in the middle of the night, the gut-deep fear that he’d lost her refused to let him. She’d been on the verge of walking out the door when desperation drove him to kiss her. Passion and mind-numbing orgasms didn’t necessarily change anything. Their problems had never been in the bedroom.
Dreading the emptiness he knew he’d find, he slid out of bed to explore the house. Maybe she’d gone for a glass of water. Was rummaging now for something to eat.
He yanked on a pair of clean boxers and flipped the light on in the hallway. Silence descended around him, not the sound of running water, closing cupboards, or the general rustle of someone milling through the kitchen. He took a deep breath, ground his teeth together. If she’d left in the middle of the night, without so much as a goodbye, first thing tomorrow morning he’d drag her out of Sam’s basement and tell her how to find the quickest road to hell.
Yeah, right. Like he’d be capable of that.
Grimacing, Mason trudged toward the lighted living room with a silent prayer that he’d find her sitting at the table immersed in a bowl of cereal.
Halfway to his destination, the soft sounds of crying wafted to his ears. He winced, the pitiful sobs like daggers to his heart. Did she regret making love to him that much? He’d thought when she agreed to go to the bedroom, they were finally on the right track. Finally making progress.
Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe tonight had been Kirstin’s way of saying a final goodbye.
He really didn’t want to know. Half of his mind ordered him to turn around, go back to bed, and see if he woke up alone in the morning. The other half demanded he round that corner and confront those damning tears.
He couldn’t run. If things were over, he’d rather deal with the pain of loss now, not put off the inevitable.
Swallowing down his building apprehension, he took a step forward into the light. The soft sobs came from his left, and as he turned, his gaze fell on Kirstin. Curled up in a ball, her shoulders shook beneath his tuxedo jacket. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders, hiding her face. Unable to witness her grief, he went to her and knelt in front of the leather chair. He covered her ankle with his hand. “Baby? What’s the matter?”
She shook her head, choked out another sob.
His gut cinched into a tight knot. He hadn’t seen her this upset since her mother’s death. Mason ran his hand over her calf, offering what consolation he could. When that failed to uncurl her, he leaned forward, wrapped his arms around her slight form, and pulled her into his lap. She tucked into his embrace, balled fists resting against his chest.
“Kirstin,” he whispered against her hair. “Talk to me.”
Chapter Fifteen
As if their roles had suddenly reversed, Kirstin wanted to tell him, but words wouldn’t come. It was the same locked-mind syndrome that she knew tied him in knots when he tried to express his feelings. The reason I love you, coming from Mason, meant so very much.
With her mother’s ring clutched in one hand, she curled her other into his bare chest. His embrace tightened, lending her strength she had no right to accept. She’d been a fool. A pitiful, whining, fool who didn’t possess the good sense to realize what was right in front of her nose.
All the mixed up conversations they’d had over the last year cycled through her mind, compounding her guilt. She needed to apologize. Which meant she needed to explain. But the idea of explaining how a client had mixed her up so badly made her feel worse.
Mason stroked her hair with surprising patience. As a rule, wh
en she teared up, he didn’t deal well with it. He tried—she couldn’t deny he made an effort. But his own inability to find words frustrated him, and he quickly gave up. This time, however, he seemed content to wait until she pulled herself together.
She sniffled, trying to do just that. No matter how she wanted it to, the mess wouldn’t resolve through silence. Sifting through the nonsensical chatter in her head, she picked the first thought that screamed the loudest. “I heard your speech,” she whispered.
Mason stiffened. The hand in her hair stilled. “You did? I didn’t…see you.”
With another sniff, Kirstin shook her head and pushed herself into a sitting position. Using his jacket sleeves, she wiped her cheeks. “I didn’t hear all of it. Just the end.”
“Oh,” he answered with a faint smile.
“I’m sorry, Mason, that I wasn’t there. I didn’t set out to hurt you or deliberately bail on your presentation.”
To her surprise, Mason chuckled. His smile took on more life, and he tucked a hank of her hair behind her shoulder. “It’s okay. It sucked. I survived. You heard the most important part.”
A whole new set of fresh tears welled in her eyes. “What you said in front of everyone—I don’t deserve it.”
“Of course you do.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. In the soft light, his expression took on more sincerity. “I didn’t say those things to keep you from leaving. I added them to my speech, knowing you might walk away, because they’re the truth.”
He paused, and when he spoke next, hesitation filled his voice. “After our fight yesterday, I realized I don’t tell you often enough how much you mean to me. You know how hard it is for me, but that doesn’t make it okay to not try. When I started talking…that was the one part of my speech I didn’t stumble over, baby.”
Lord above, knowing how much effort it took for him to spit that out sent buckets of guilt pouring onto her shoulders. Here he sat, accepting the things she’d accused him of, taking blame where none existed, and she had to tell him his confession wasn’t necessary. The gathered tears spilled down her cheeks.
Misunderstanding Mason Page 12
