Mason shifted position, adjusting her to better fit into his protective embrace. His gaze caught hers, held it for several drawn-out heartbeats. Ever-so-slightly, the hand at her waist tensed. “Are you upset…because of…because you want out, and you’re afraid you’ll hurt me?”
“No.” Though she whispered, the word rushed out.
As he exhaled, his body relaxed, but in his next sharp draw of air, his arms tightened so fiercely she feared her ribs might crack. She pushed on his chest to gain breathing room. When he yielded, Kirstin spit out the embarrassing truth. “You might want out though.”
He gave her a look of such bewilderment, she almost laughed.
“Really? After tonight?” He tapped the tip of her nose. “Wrong answer.”
His humor was impossible to resist, but she ignored the tickle of laughter in her throat and shook her head. “I’ve been so wrong. Blaming you for things that weren’t true… Believing thoughts other people put in my head.”
Mason’s smile faded, and a faint frown settled into his brow. “What do you mean?”
Sniffling again, Kirstin dabbed at her eyes to stop the salty flow. It didn’t help. Her tears fell harder, threatening to drag her into that nonsensical place where all she could do was sob. She summoned courage, clung to it for dear life. “Lisa said some things—”
“I know.” His frown deepened. “I don’t know what, but I know she said something to you.”
“She was trying to get to you. Trying to break me down and push me away so she could have you.” Kirstin did sob then, the humility of it all overwhelming. But she sucked in a short breath and cut the next cry off. She’d make it through this, spill it all. Then, when he shoved her out of his lap, she could fall apart again.
“She nitpicked your faults. I didn’t believe her at first, but after a while, I started to see the things she said. That you stayed in your office too late, that you didn’t take me out in public, that you were more attached to money and appearances.”
Mason’s sharp inhale cut through her brave façade. He was pissed. Seriously so. She braced for a cutting remark.
“Kirstin.”
Low, firm, and harsh, his voice bruised. Strong fingers settled beneath her chin, none-too-gentle pressure forcing her to look at him. She instinctively winced.
“I don’t give a damn about money and appearances. That—”
“I know you don’t, she just—”
“That bitch doesn’t have room to talk. She’s so wrapped up—”
“I couldn’t help—” Kirstin stopped. Talking over each other wouldn’t get them anywhere. She could defend herself when he finished.
“In her money, she’s indecent. If I could find a way to make her body turn up on a distant shore without going to jail for it, I would.” He took a breath, tempering his rush of words. “I don’t need to know what she said to you. I know you, and I know your vulnerabilities. It doesn’t entirely surprise me that she could poison you.”
Kirstin squeezed her eyes shut tight to block out his earnest stare. “Mason, I believed her over you. I let her sway me. For God’s sake, I’ve been with you for five years. I should be stronger than that. Doesn’t that bother you? What if it happens again?”
****
Acknowledging the discomfort that her questions aroused, Mason fell silent. Did it bother him? Hell yeah. Kirstin was absolutely right in the fact she should have known better. For that matter, she should have done the very thing she’d ripped into him about—told him the minute Lisa spewed her first bits of venom. It damn well could happen again, and they might end up right back here once more.
But pounding her with more guilt wouldn’t accomplish anything. Her confession cut, but not deeply enough he bled. Still, he wouldn’t disguise the truth of his feelings. Not anymore. Kirstin wanted the good confessions, she had to accept the bad as well.
He exhaled long and hard. “Yeah, it bothers me.” On a slow nod of acknowledgement, he grabbed at the courage to continue with his honesty. “It stings pretty bad. We’ve spent a lot of time together, shared a lot of things. No one should be able to influence you when it comes to us.”
Her shoulders shook, and she bit down on her lower lip. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“But,” Mason continued. He hesitated, what he wanted to say suddenly feeling like bricks on his tongue. She didn’t hold back, you can do this too.
Yeah, like he’d managed to not trip over everything at the end of his speech, he could do this. He just needed to slow down. Don’t get caught up in how it might sound. Spit it out nice and easy.
“But you mean too much to me to let that destroy us. I need you, Kirstin. And while I hate where we’ve been lately, we both learned some important things. It could happen again—but I don’t believe it will.”
To emphasize his complete conviction, he dipped his head and caught her mouth with his. Slowly, thoroughly, he kissed her until he felt the tension leave her body. When it did, and she began to participate more eagerly, the all-too-familiar ache of want settled into his gut. Spread outward, through his veins to pool at the base of his spine and fill his cock. He bit back the rush of instantaneous desire, determined not to yield until they had completely resolved this conversation. Until he found a way to slip back to the bedroom and retrieve her mother’s ring.
Until she agreed to become his wife.
Kirstin eased the kiss to a lingering close. Content to bask in the warmth of her body, the scent of kiwi in her hair, Mason kept his eyes closed and indulged in the whole of Kirstin a little while longer.
When he opened his eyes, he found her green gaze on him.
“If you can forgive me, will you marry me, Mason?” She lifted something beneath his chin.
Stuttering unintelligibly, he leaned back and discovered she held her mother’s ring. Well, hell, she’d stolen his thunder. Perturbed, he swiped the ring from her hand. “Where’d you get that?”
“I stepped on it in the hall. How’d it get there?”
“Oh.” Heat crept into his cheeks. “I got a little drunk the other night. I must have dropped it.”
A teasing twinkle lit her eyes. “You lost my mother’s wedding ring?”
He shot her an insincere frown. “I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t decided to move in with Sam and Theresa.”
“Okay.” She laughed. “I deserved that.” Her fingertips scored a pleasant burn down the center of his chest. “You haven’t answered me.”
Mason unceremoniously pushed her off his lap. “No. I won’t.” Jumping to his feet, he extended his hand to help her up. “Come with me.”
Refusing to give her time enough she could dwell on his answer and reach a negative conclusion, he pulled her to her feet. Steal his thunder, he could accept. She would not steal the one job that was rightfully his. Not to mention that ring wouldn’t fit on his pinkie.
Not that he supposed she really meant for him to wear it…but still. In sheer principle of the matter, he would not have his wife retelling stories about how she proposed to him. Good God, his hang-up with verbalizing emotions could only carry so much weight.
Mason dragged a shuffling Kirstin down the dark hall and into his office where he shook the mouse and brought his computer to life. He closed the window of the dragon, exposing his desktop. Navigating through a series of folders and subfolders, he clicked on the file he’d created after he spoke to her dad.
When he discovered she was still standing behind him, staring at her feet, he let out an exasperated mutter and steered her into the chair. “Watch.”
****
Kirstin stared at the screen, more humiliated than ever. It had been foolish to think Mason would agree to marriage so soon after she confessed to doubting him. He’d been so open though, so accepting, so unbelievably Mason that she’d become...
Her thoughts came to a slow stop as a majestic Pegasus, her favorite fantasy creature, soared across the screen. As far as she knew, no project Mason ever worked on included
a winged horse of any kind.
It circled on the screen, gradually descending into a graceful landing. As its front hooves touched down, it bowed its regal head and stamped a foot. The screen changed, illuminating with a photograph of her at her first—and only—Renaissance Faire. Mason had dragged her to it. He’d even forced her to dress up, as an elf no less. He’d snapped the photograph on his way from a long line for turkey legs, when he caught her sniffing a wildflower she’d picked.
In the corner of the screen, the Pegasus’s nose nudged the photograph. Like turning pages in a book, the picture rolled, exposing a breathtaking, computer animated reproduction of the photograph, in close-up of her face. Obviously accented to emphasize elvish features, there was no mistaking it was her. Beneath the beautiful imagery, the single word, Na’Vayiel, scrawled across the screen. Kirstin’s heart kicked. His first project—The Legend of Na’Vayiel.
At the Pegasus’ prompting, the screen changed again, and another photograph of her appeared. This one was at the park near their raggedy apartment. She’d been playing fetch with the neighbors’ dog, a black lab named Boston. Huh. Wonder what happened to that mutt.
When the delicate white nose nudged the corner of the photograph, the next picture was computer generated again. A park, a girl with a dog standing behind a lemonade vendor. The black lab looked on, tail poised mid-wag, and the dark haired woman brandished a stick. Her again—her outfit was identical.
She scanned the title that rolled across the bottom of the screen. Intelligence Wars—the international spy-based game he’d spent six months designing for Gamesquare.
Slowly, she sat forward, watching the monitor with new interest. One by one, Mason brought memories to life, combining pictures of her into an array of different, startlingly life-like, computer representations. All of which corresponded to a game he’d worked on, a side-project he picked up. The last of which portrayed a beautiful Greek woman, who bore a startling resemblance to herself, and he had titled, Chalciope, Queen of Orchomenus.
Then, Mason’s computer went dark.
Kirstin turned wide-eyes on him, not fully understanding why he put her into all his designs, speechless that he had, and never said a word. He smiled, took her hand, and slowly lowered himself to one knee.
As what was about to happen smacked into her, her pulse jumped to life and tears moistened her eyes. “Oh, Mason,” she whispered.
“I told you, I couldn’t have done any of this without you. You’re my inspiration, baby. My partner.” He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and emotion filled his beautiful blue eyes.
Windows to his soul.
“I can’t imagine life without you. I don’t want that life, if it exists. You get me. And you’re so much a part of me, it hurts sometimes. Scares me sometimes too.” Shifting her hand, he poised her mother’s ring at the end of her fingertips. “I know I’ve got my faults, but will you spend the rest of time with me? Will you…” He swallowed with visible effort, and his voice roughened. “Will you marry me, Kirstin?”
She couldn’t speak through her tears and answered with a vigorous nod of her head. Impatiently, she waited for Mason to slide the ring onto her hand. When it came to a firm stop at her knuckle, she threw her arms around his neck and launched out of the chair. “Yes,” she worked out of her tightened throat.
Mason’s arms wound around her tight and fierce. He tucked his face into her shoulder and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mason.”
For several never-ending minutes, he held her close, and she basked in his warmth. Savored the tender caress of his gentle hands as they moved across her back. Silence settled around them, as comfortable as the feel of his strong arms. She pulled back, dusted a kiss over his mouth. He captured her lips, drawing her into a stirring kiss that filled her senses with all of him. Familiar heat built between them where their bodies touched, and the quiet moment filled with intensity.
Mason’s hand slipped beneath his jacket lapel to cover her breast. As he kneaded the soft flesh there, he eased the kiss to a close and gazed into her eyes. “Shall we go back to bed?”
Kirstin gave him an impish smile and wriggled in his lap. Leaning forward she nipped the sensitive skin along the side of his neck. “Only if you sleep in with me.”
His chuckle was low and hearty. “How about I bring you breakfast in bed?” Nudging her head sideways, he trailed the tip of his tongue across the hollow at the base of her ear and provoked her into a shiver. “Bacon, eggs…” He drew her earlobe between his lips and gently suckled. “Two cups of coffee.”
“Mmm…” Kirstin ran her hands over his broad shoulders, admiring the taut muscle beneath his bronzed skin. “And we can move my stuff back in after?”
“Oh, yeah.”
She dipped her hands between their bodies and ran a solitary finger beneath the waistband of his boxers. “I think you should take me to bed.” Grazing her fingertip across the smooth head of his erection, she murmured, “Unless you really like the carpet.”
Laughing, Mason looped an arm beneath her knees and eased to his feet. “Not particularly. Though the coffee table was rather convenient.”
“Yeah,” Kirstin murmured. “It was.”
With a soft smile, she tucked her head against his shoulder and let out a sigh. He carried her down the hall, into their bedroom, where he eased her onto the mattress. She smiled up at him as he set one knee between hers, his hands pushing aside his jacket, his gaze holding hers, conveying all the things she’d known in her heart. His love. His devotion.
His long ebony eyelashes lowered, and he dipped his head, capturing her mouth. He nudged her lips apart, filling her with unspeakable emotion as the warm velvet of his tongue slid against hers. She wound her arms around his neck, becoming lost in his kiss. Lord, she loved this man. Never again would she make the mistake of misunderstanding Mason.
She couldn’t, when everything he did made his feelings so perfectly clear.
A word about the author...
Claire Ashgrove has been writing since her early teens and maintained the hobby for twenty years before deciding to leap into the professional world. Her first contemporary novel, Seduction’s Stakes, sold to The Wild Rose Press in 2008, where she continues to write steamy, sexy stories for the Champagne line. Adding to these critically acclaimed contemporaries, Claire’s paranormal romance series about the Immortal Knights Templar will debut with Tor in January 2012. For those who prefer the more erotic side of romance, she also writes for Berkley Heat under the pen name Tori St. Claire.
Claire lives on a small farm in Missouri with her two toddler sons, fifteen horses, four cats, and five dogs. In her “free” time, she enjoys cooking, winning at rummy, studying ancient civilizations, and spending quiet moments with her family, including the critters. She credits her success to her family’s constant support and endless patience.
To learn more about Claire, visit her on the web at
www.claireashgrove.com
or
www.toristclaire.com
and at the Cascade Literary Agency blog site
http://cascadeliteraryagency.blogspot.com
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Misunderstanding Mason Page 13
