Misunderstanding Mason (8 page)

Another laugh
slid from Lisa’s throat. “Just send me the bill, darling. Who did you hire?”

Kirstin
cringed, already knowing where this conversation would lead. “Mason, actually.
You remember he worked on the spread briefly.”

“I remember
the man didn’t have the good sense to appreciate the way you bent over
backwards for him.” Lisa let out a derisive snort. “He
charged
you for
work? When you’re practically married?”

The gut-deep
instinct to defend Mason roared to life with such fury that Kirstin had to
clamp her teeth together to stop from telling Lisa where to go and how to get
there. Mason might be insensitive. His emotional communication skills might
make him a relative to a rock. But he’d never,
ever
, taken advantage of
Kirstin. Never failed to appreciate the things she did for him. She’d bent over
backwards because she wanted to. Because that’s just what people who were in
love did.

Instead, she
took a deep breath and counted to ten. When she felt like she’d chained the
dragon inside her to a manageable level, she answered as coolly as she could,
“Mason and I have a professional arrangement, and yes, I’m paying him his usual
contract rate. If that’s a problem, Lisa—”

“It’s no
problem.” Her voice shifted, exchanging her overtones of derision for smooth
amicability. “I’m sorry. I realize you love him, but you deserve so much more.
We’ve talked about this many times. My opinion hasn’t changed—I can’t stand the
way he treats you, and I certainly would never allow Tom to charge me for
anything. The man gets plenty as my husband—if you get my meaning.” A light
laugh drifted through the receiver.

Soothed by
Lisa’s friendly manner, Kirstin released the remnants of her annoyance and
plucked at the quilt covering her lap. They had talked many times—more often
than not Lisa did the talking. She didn’t really need to know anything more
about Kirstin’s personal life, but if Kirstin remained silent, the next week
would be filled with snide remarks. Things she really didn’t need to hear any
more of. The first time around had been damaging enough, with Lisa’s
observations making it impossible to ignore the reality of her involvement with
Mason. Her status as a wallflower. Placeholder. Reliable source of comfort.

“I’ve moved
out, Lisa. My relationship with Mason is strictly business.”

“Oh,
darling.” Sympathy oozed through the line. “That must be terribly awkward.”

Kirstin
shrugged. “I’m not a developer. Mason is, and I didn’t have other contacts.”
Doing her best to steer the conversation back to the job at hand, Kirstin
hurried to add, “His work is top of the line. I’m certain you’ll be pleased
with the final product.”

“I have no
concerns about the quality. I just feel terrible that my project has put you in
an awkward position.” A shrill ring resounded over Lisa’s voice. “Oh, dang. My
secretary’s out today—that’s the office line. I’ll call you back, darling.”

Before
Kirstin could stutter a surprised goodbye, the line went dead. She dropped the
phone in her lap, leaned back against the headboard, and let out a groan. The
last thing she wanted was Lisa’s pity. Now, she’d be lucky not to face a
personal inquisition every time Lisa phoned.

Worse, that
busybody would probably try to set her up.

Sighing,
Kirstin eased out of bed. She shouldn’t be so hard on Lisa. She meant well but
lacked tact. In her zany, discombobulated way, she probably thought she was
being helpful with her unsolicited observations. Problem being, after last
night, Kirstin would have rather remained ignorant to Mason’s faults. Life had
been a hell of a lot easier then.

****

I’m sorry,
but I can’t be alone anymore.

Mason sat in
the middle of Kirstin’s former office, her words echoing through his head as he
stared at her belongings. She’d taken only her computer, printer, and the basic
supplies to maintain her work. Everything else, every personal detail, remained
on the floor-to-ceiling bookcases and her expansive desk.

He sipped
coffee and squinted at a picture of the two of them her dad had taken the day
they moved into their rundown apartment. Somewhere in here, he’d find a clue.
An explanation that linked
alone
with
expectations you can’t meet.

As far as the
words themselves—Kirstin had changed the language he’d worked so hard to
master.

In the
picture, standing on the crumbling front steps with her arm looped around his
waist, she radiated happiness. He, on the other hand, looked a little harassed.
In his defense, he’d just finished moving all the furniture inside and wanted
nothing more than to test out their shower and relax. But she was genuinely
beaming.

The next
framed photograph captured her mother’s memory, a short month before Lucinda
passed away. Perched on the arm of the electronic lift-chair, Kirstin sat
beside her mother’s frail form. Her smile didn’t reach the corners of her eyes.
They’d all known Lucinda was losing the battle, and Kirstin’s dull eyes
conveyed her sorrow.

He took
another sip and studied the next photograph—Kirstin riding a Merry-Go-Round
giraffe at Disneyworld. With one arm looped around the brass pole, her head
resting against the giraffe’s neck and a dreamy smile on her face, Kirstin fit
every description of the angel Mason knew.

One by one,
he examined the framed pictures, tracking her emotions through each pose, each
unexpected timeless click.
I’m sorry, but I can’t be alone anymore.

Mason’s focus
locked on the photograph taken at last year’s SIGGRAPH awards banquet. He’d
been honored for excellence in computer animation for his work on a
multi-million dollar, fantasy RPG game that had been adapted from film. As he
awkwardly displayed his brass plaque, Kirstin stood at his side, her elbow
tucked into his, her smile intact, but her eyes unexpressive and far away.

Lisa and her
husband, Tom, had been amongst the attendees, and roughly an hour earlier, Lisa
had propositioned him.

Mason skipped
back to the picture immediately before the SIGGRAPH banquet, confirming the
shot of Kirstin on their back patio portrayed contentment. As anger sparked, he
snatched the SIGGRAPH photo off the shelf. Damn it. He’d known Lisa’s project
took a toll on Kirstin, but had Kirstin overheard Lisa’s suggestion that they
slip away to her room for a few minutes?

Had Kirstin
misheard
something? Something that had been festering for the last year?

Photograph in
his lap, he dragged his chair forward to examine the sparse ones that followed,
the ones that captured the last several months of their life together. Out of
the five, only Christmas brought true joy to Kirstin’s eyes. The rest
increasingly portrayed her as pulling further and further inside herself.

Hell, in the
last one, she wasn’t even smiling, and that had been when he’d photographed her
in front of her new Jeep.

Fucking Lisa.

She’d done
something more than overtax Kirstin with constantly changing designs—he’d stake
every cent he had in the bank on that suspicion.

“Son of a
bitch.” He tossed the SIGGRAPH photo atop Kirstin’s desk.

Surely,
Kirstin couldn’t believe he’d cheated. In the first place, he would have had to
be a magician to pull off a stunt like that—he worked from home ninety-five
percent of the time. When he wasn’t working, he was home. With Kirstin.

In the second
place, Kirstin knew how much he despised Lisa, and he’d never been any good at
acting. He couldn’t just fabricate the level of hate he felt for that meddling
bitch. That sort of repulsion came from the gut.

Mason raked a
hand through his hair and let out a sigh. He thought he’d done the right thing
by keeping the indecent proposal secret. The job had been nearly complete; Lisa
wouldn’t be around much longer. Above all, he didn’t want to hurt Kirstin and
saw no reason to mention what amounted to an insignificant offer. In hindsight,
maybe he should have told her. Maybe he could have stopped this runaway train
from rushing headlong into disaster.

It’s not fair
for me to have expectations you can’t meet.

Standing,
Mason ground his teeth together to temper the overwhelming urge to drive his
fist into something. Whether or not he should have mentioned the proposition
was irrelevant. He needed to tell her now and find out just what expectations
Lisa had convinced Kirstin he couldn’t meet.

Because, by
God, he’d meet and exceed them all, somehow.

He stalked
from the room, on a determined path to the phone. No time like the present. She
might not want to see him before the launch party, but he’d be damned if he’d
let an immoral Jezebel kill the fragile love that remained between him and
Kirstin.

****

As Kirstin
stepped out of the shower, her cell phone sang from the sink countertop. She
tucked the terry around her breasts, squinted at the number, and recognized
Mason. Probably trying to convince her into coming back over and working on
Lisa’s project today. Not happening—she’d been trying to sift through her mixed
emotions about Mason since she’d rolled out of bed two hours after Lisa’s
annoying wake up call.

She pushed
the Ignore option and toweled out her hair. Yesterday had proven two things.
One, Mason knew more about her than she’d given him credit for. Maybe she
always suspected that, but she’d never stopped to pay attention. Whether she
should have could be arguable—sometimes going through the motions of life
masked the little things—like how he knew exactly how many cups of coffee she
needed to overcome the torture of getting up in the mornings.

Bottom line
was, she’d been oblivious to the fact Mason gave attention to detail,
specifically in relation to her. And Mason’s seemingly inherent understanding
of her didn’t reconcile with his absolute cluelessness on the other things she
needed.

The second
thing she couldn’t run from was that he still possessed the ability to render
her senseless with just a simple touch of his hand. Let alone a kiss. It had
taken every bit of common sense she possessed to break the intoxicating touch
of his lips. But getting physically tangled up in Mason again would be like
trying to navigate a field of land mines while wearing a blindfold and leg
shackles.

She couldn’t
think, couldn’t begin to do as Theresa suggested and see things with fresh
eyes, while her body was screaming at her to peel off Mason’s clothes and drag
him to bed. Against the wall. On the carpet. Where didn’t really make a
difference so long as Mason’s hands and mouth were meticulously working her
over.

Kirstin
mumbled as the all too familiar tightness settled into her womb. She scowled at
her reflection in the condensation-covered mirror. Last night had also proved
Mason was just as capable with his mouth in her dreams, as he was in person.
The things he’d done to her in her sleep made her want to blush now, even after
five years of thorough explorations.

Her phone
bleated out another shrill tune, and she automatically hit the ignore button
before pulling on a pair of comfortable workout shorts and a tank top. A run
around the lake was just the thing she needed to clear her head. Then, she’d
hit the shower again and get ready for a too-intense night with Mason.

Grabbing her
dirty clothes, she left the bathroom. With Sam and Theresa at work, the house
was quiet. Too quiet to keep her gaze from straying out the kitchen window to
the house she’d left behind. What was he doing? Working on Lisa’s project?
Hashing out something new for Gamesquare?

Missing her
as much as she missed him?

For the third
time in less than an hour, her phone sang. Annoyed he couldn’t take the hint,
Kirstin glared at the LCD, only to find a number she didn’t recognize staring
back. Crap! She hadn’t even considered her clients.

Hurrying to
answer before voicemail could, she jabbed her thumb on the connect key.
“Hello?”

“May I speak
with Kirstin Jones?” a smooth as silk masculine baritone rumbled in her ear.

Kirstin took
a startled step away from the kitchen window.
Wow.
“Speaking.”

“This is
Steve Whitmore. I don’t know if you remember me, but we’ve met a few times at
Gamesquare launches.”

A vivid image
of a muscular blond with a Hollywood-white smile and dark copper skin leapt
into her head. Oh yeah. She remembered Steve—along with the way he stood just a
little too close when Mason accepted his award at the SIGGRAPH convention last
fall. The too-intimate, too-uncomfortable, way he set his hand in the small of
her back to escort her to the table when the General Manager of Pixar cornered
Mason afterward. How in the world had Steve found her number?

“Hi, Steve.
What can I do for you?”

“It seems we
have a mutual acquaintance—other than Mason.”

“Oh?” Kirstin
meandered to the washing machine and dumped her clothes inside.

“Lisa Bennet.
I just got off the phone with her.”

The heavy
metal washing machine lid thumped closed. Kirstin lingered at the dials,
curiosity piqued.