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 tongue. 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.