Misunderstanding Mason

Struck dumb
by a fear more terrifying

than any
imprisoning nightmare, Mason watched Kirstin disappear out the door. He was
losing her. Really, truly losing Kirstin. And God help him, he didn’t know how
to stop this out of control roller coaster.

Didn’t know
if he
could
.

Or even
should.

They were so
mixed up and at odds. So removed from the closeness they’d shared for the five
most important years of his life. Maybe she was right—love wasn’t enough
anymore.

No.
He couldn’t
allow himself to believe that. He needed her too much to let her go without a
fight.

Raking a hand
through his hair, he found the ability to move and sagged into the recliner.
He’d made things worse by telling her about Lisa. But while he might be
clueless now and then, he wasn’t a complete Neanderthal. He heard loud and
clear what she’d said, and Kirstin needed words from him.

It made sense
now—the expectations, her claims she’d been alone. Logically, he didn’t
necessarily agree. She
could have
asked him to come to bed with her if
it bothered her so much. But logic and reason aside, her former innate ability
to understand him had morphed into a hunger for affirmation. Reassurance his
good intentions failed to deliver.

She believed
him incapable. In many ways, she was right. He simply didn’t know how to tell
her what resided in his heart. Showing through his actions had always been
easier. But that approach wouldn’t cut it now.

If he
intended to save the best five years of his life from imminent disaster, he had
to step up and meet her halfway. And he’d better figure out how, damn quick.
Before Steve Whitmore could seduce her with promises of career success.

Chapter One

Half-naked
men doing yard work should be illegal.

Lounging on
her deck recliner, Kirstin did her best to stare straight ahead and play
oblivious to the bare-chested man trimming hedges on the terrace less than a
football field away. The sun glinted off sweat-slickened muscles that rippled
each time the lanky man twisted to snip a belligerent bough. Her gaze followed
the tapering contours of his back to a trim waist. Lower to the man’s simply
amazing ass. His jeans fit over taut buttocks, hugging flesh her fingers
yearned to squeeze. His skin would be warm to the touch. Rugged silk as it
slipped against hers.

Perfection.

Too bad she’d
spent the last three years living with that hard male body and knew that the
physical work of art came with a whole lot of damning faults.

Kirstin shifted,
annoyed by the way her body reacted to the mere sight of Mason Montgomery. Even
now, when she’d thrown in the towel on a future with him, he could still turn
her insides into pudding.

Mason moved
around the rose bush—the same rose bush they’d planted when they bought the
house together—giving Kirstin a full frontal of well-defined pecs and six-pack
abs she knew by heart. Not once did he look up. His hands never hesitated.

As if he
didn’t damn well know she was sunbathing on their neighbor’s balcony.

As if he
didn’t care one bit his indifference had forced her to take refuge next door.

As if he
didn’t care at all that their lives had fallen apart.

Good thing
she hadn’t married the insensitive jerk. Divorce would suck ten times more. She
pulled in a deep breath and forced her eyes to close. If it weren’t for the
fact he’d insisted he wanted her to work from home and enjoy the little bit of
luxury his salary afforded them, she’d be across town in her own studio
apartment, as indifferent to his absence as he was to hers. Damn it—why had she
allowed her pride to reject his proposal that they split the bank accounts? If
she had, she wouldn’t be stuck, without an office, without any recourse but to
sit and hope a client would call and she could earn enough to really get away
from Mason.

Forever.

Muttering,
she looked once more at the rose bush, half-hoping he’d still be snipping away
and half-hoping he’d given up and gone inside.

The rose bush
sat alone, the patio door wide open to their Tuscany kitchen.

Good. Right
about now, on Fridays, Mason sat at the computer, where he remained until she
finished cooking and called him to dinner.

Satisfied she
could now concentrate on
Cosmopolitan
, she picked the magazine back up
and flipped it open to the article on Caribbean vacations she’d been reading
before Mason intruded on her solitude. As she searched for the paragraph she’d
abandoned, the shrill ring of a telephone pulled her gaze back to the nearby
patio.

It rang three
times before abruptly terminating, telling her yes, Mason had been at his
computer. A sigh worked its way out of her lungs, and she glanced back down at
the ocean liner in the article.

“Hey!”
Mason’s voice boomed over the short lawns between them.

She looked up
to find him already halfway across the grass and cringed. This wouldn’t be
pleasant. Not by any means. Standing, she hurried to meet him at the bottom of
the stairs. “Yes?”

Mason thrust
the cordless at her bare belly. “Phone’s for you.” His gaze dipped to her
bikini-clad breasts, lower to where the back of his knuckles touched her skin.
Then ice blue eyes locked with hers, hard and brittle.

“Oh.” It took
an enormous amount of willpower to ignore the warmth that radiated off his
fingers as she accepted the phone. She loved his hands even more than she loved
the rest of his phenomenal body. They could be so gentle, the only part of him
that ever conveyed true feeling.

Well, except
for his eyes.

Lifting the
receiver to her ear, she turned away before the hard glint to his stare could
stir regret. “Kirstin Jones, speaking.”

“Kirstin!
This is Lisa Bennet. Do you remember the spread you did for me last year?”

How could she
forget? Lisa’s two-page skateboard ad had taken months of back and forth design
layouts before Lisa accepted Kirstin’s graphics. The project had kept Kirstin
up at night, made her lose five pounds, and it marked the beginning of the
inevitable end with Mason. As far as she was concerned, she could go a lifetime
without hearing from Lisa Bennet. However, if Lisa was calling, she needed something,
and right now, Kirstin needed money more than she needed peace of mind.

“Yes, Lisa,
it’s so good to hear from you. How can I help you?” Glancing over her shoulder,
she looked at Mason.

He shook his
head, pursed his lips, and turned back the way he’d come. Definitely not a
happy camper. But hell, what did he expect? They’d only been apart a few weeks.
Not all her former clients knew her new number. And she wasn’t about to
antagonize the super-touchy Lisa by asking her to call back on the cell.

“We’re doing
something new at Edge Skateboards this year. I need a graphical artist, and
you’re the best I know.”

“Oh? What’s
the campaign slant? New product? New style? Are we trying to instill a brand
image, or focus on the company as a whole?” Mason temporarily forgotten,
Kirstin wandered up the deck stairs and sat down on the foot of the recliner.
She pulled the issue of
Cosmopolitan
onto her lap. Picking her pen off
the table, she prepared to scribble notes in the margins.

“We’re trying
to target the younger markets, and you know how technological they’ve become.
Everything’s digital.”

Digital
spread. Okay, not a problem. Everything started digitally anyway. “Right. Go
on.”

“We want an
interactive. An ad, or an app we can embed where our ads are, in digital media,
that the teens can interact with.”

Oh. Shit.
That was
Mason’s ballgame. He did 3-D and game design. “Um, Lisa, as much as I’d like to
help you, I think that’s beyond me.”

“No it’s not.
The first thing you sent over last year, when you showed us the rotating
skateboard, that’s exactly the type of thing we’re talking about.”

Which had all
been Mason’s doing. Back when working together now and then had been fun.
Before this project had them screaming at each other and opening her eyes to
all of Mason’s faults. Kirstin held in a sigh. “Really, if that’s what you’re
looking for—”

“I’ll send
over the prototype of the new board. That should give you color schemes and
tones. I have your email address here.” The sound of shuffling papers drifted
through the receiver.

“Wait. Lisa,
really, you need to talk to Ma—”

“Oh dang, I
have to go. I’m late for a meeting. I’ll shoot that to you today, and we can
touch base tomorrow afternoon.”

In typical
Lisa Bennet fashion, she hung up, evidently having forgotten another appointment.
Not that her poor memory or state of total disorganization should be a
surprise. Her forgetfulness was half of the problem with the previous project.
She couldn’t
remember
what she’d decided she wanted from one
conversation to the next.

Kirstin stared
at the cordless phone in her hand. Now what? She couldn’t do interactives.
Digital Flash designs were the most complex of her talents, and Lisa wouldn’t
take no for an answer. She already had her mind made up, the vision completed.
Worse, Kirstin needed the money too badly. She was tired of living at their
neighbor’s, feeling like a charity case, while her ex went on about his merry
life right beneath her nose like nothing more had changed than the sheets in
their bedroom.

Mason
certainly wouldn’t help her.

Her gaze
strayed to their manicured lawn and the neatly clipped rose bushes that framed
the stone patio. The regret she’d been ignoring swamped through her, weighing
down her shoulders. They’d been a good team once. Not just with work either.
When they’d shared the little apartment down on Baker Street, where they’d been
so cramped together they could hardly turn around, they never fought. Days
didn’t pass with Mason locked in front of his computer, his mind trapped in
some alternate reality he was creating for a major corporation.

When the wind
howled in through the dilapidated windows, and the faulty heater refused to
work for the second time in one week, they hadn’t gone to bed without the
other.

She sighed
heavily and blinked back rising tears. No, once they’d coexisted in perfect
harmony. The house, his growing business, her need to have something for
herself… Sometimes love wasn’t enough to glue everything tight.

No sense
dwelling on it. That was then, this was now, and now she needed money so she
could start over. Maybe if Mason realized he wouldn’t have her lurking in his
backyard, he’d be inclined to help. He could have their neighbors back, and she
could get that apartment across town.

Summoning her
courage, she rose to her feet and descended the deck stairs. The grass was cool
beneath her bare toes, despite the hot Atlanta sunshine. The wafting breeze
carried the faint scent of pine from the dense trees that framed the lake
across the street. She caught the sound of children laughing within their other
neighbor’s enclosed privacy fence and glanced around this little copse that had
offered so much promise. Maybe a child would have held them together.

Doubtful. And
that would have meant marriage. Which would have made leaving Mason impossible.

She squared
her shoulders and rapped on the open glass patio door. Footsteps echoed down
the long hall off the side of their family room. Her pulse accelerated, her
heart unable to understand that Mason and she were finished.

He appeared
in the doorway, propped one shoulder against the rich dark wood. “You really
need to send out a mass email with your new number.”

Kirstin
forced out a light laugh as she entered the kitchen and set the cordless on its
base. “So all the clients I don’t want to return know how to reach me? Don’t
think so.”

She couldn’t
look at him. Couldn’t stand the sight of his unmanageable dark waves or the
softness of his lips. Nor could she tolerate the frostiness in his eyes.
Instead, she went to the cupboard and pulled out a box of dried-out Twinkies.
“You should go to the store. These are stale.”

“Twinkies
were your thing, not mine.”

Right. And
these weren’t her cupboards anymore. She shut the door gently and leaned her
elbows on the countertop, managing to lift her gaze to his. Those blue eyes
sank into her soul, filling her up with unwanted emotion. What she wouldn’t
give to see his lopsided smile. To feel his thick arms around her, his mouth on
hers.

Mason’s
expression remained impassive. “Did you need something?”

Damn him.
Didn’t he care at all? Wasn’t there some small part of him that missed her? She
swallowed to curb the twisting of her belly. “Actually, yes.”

The first bit
of emotion she’d witnessed in far too long crossed his face. Dark eyebrows
lifted for a fraction of a second before his frown returned. “What?”

“That was
Lisa Bennet. I need your help with—”

“No.” Mason
turned to the hall, presenting her with his back.

As he took a
step toward his office, Kirstin blurted out, “I need the money to move, Mason.
Really move.”

****

Everything
inside Mason’s body ground to a standstill, including his heart. This was real.
Not some nightmare he’d wake up from and find Kirstin asleep at his side, her
long black hair tickling his cheek. She didn’t want just distance, she wanted
to leave.

Correction.
She already had.

He slowly
turned around. “Really move,” he echoed. To his ears, his voice rang flat. Her
face, however, took on excitement, and the smile that had once lit him up from
the inside flickered hesitantly across her face.

“Yeah. We can’t
move forward if I’m parked in the Roberts’ house.”

Forward. He
didn’t want to go forward. He wanted to go back. Back to where Kirstin laughed
and they spent long nights sitting up talking about…nothing. But damned if he
knew how. He didn’t even know what had happened. One minute they were arguing
about what to have for dinner, and the next she’d packed a bag.

A day later,
she’d informed him she wasn’t in love with him any more. He’d been too
dumbfounded to beg, and he’d never been good with words anyway. When it all
sank in, it became easier to convince himself this was just a phase. Something
she’d change her mind about if he gave her space.

Evidently
not.

He ran a hand
through his hair, unable to dislodge his frown. Work with Kirstin on a Lisa
Bennet project? Hell, beyond all the reasons he couldn’t tolerate Lisa, he
could hardly tolerate seeing Kirstin from fifty feet away. All he wanted to do
was drag her back into their bedroom and remind her how good they were
together. “I’m pretty busy with this deadline right now.”