But
when she pushed his trousers over his hips and took his swollen erection in her
hands, Mason’s body coiled like a spring. He couldn’t stop his hips from
thrusting forward as she squeezed.
“Baby,”
he exhaled sharply.
As a
rule, he greatly appreciated the five years of knowledge she possessed. But
tonight he cursed her masterful fingers and her swift ability to manipulate him
beyond reason. If he didn’t find a way to stop the ecstasy that rushed down his
spine and pooled in his cock, he was in deep trouble.
Jerking
back out of her reach, he took her hands and raised them to her shoulders. As
he dipped his head and captured a turgid nipple between his teeth, he pressed
her to the carpet. She arched her back, writhed against the swirl of his
tongue. Squirmed to regain the use of her hands.
Mason
pushed them above her head, then held both wrists in one hand. The other he
cupped around a breast, kneading as he laved the first with his mouth and
tongue. God he’d missed how good her skin tasted. How warm her flesh was
beneath his lips.
He
yearned for the intimate taste of her against his tongue, but that was an
impossibility now. He wouldn’t make it that long. Glancing up at her hands, he
deliberately nudged her fingertips against the coffee table leg. He wouldn’t
make it to undressing her the rest of the way if he had to fight her seeking
fingers, and when Kirstin reached this point, she liked to cling to something.
She took his signal and grabbed onto the wood, granting him the ability to
kneel between her parted thighs. Sensing his intent, she bent one knee.
Mason
cupped her calf, unfastened the tiny buckle around her ankle, and slipped her
pastel pink heel off. When he’d done the same with the other foot, she lifted
her hips, allowing him to peel away her flimsy thong.
Another
night, he would have taken his time, teased the worthless scrap off with his
teeth. Another night, he’d have found the ability to speak while he enjoyed the
treasures of her body. But not tonight. Too much time had passed between them
since they last made love, and their intimate dance earlier had already taken a
significant toll. The quiet was also safe. He couldn’t say the wrong thing,
couldn’t spoil the perfect magic between them.
She
must have shared the same thought—it had been a long, long time since Kirstin
encouraged him without words.
Drawing
in a jagged breath, Mason shed the rest of his clothing. Hands braced at her
shoulders, he lowered his body against hers and pressed a soft kiss to the
corner of her mouth. She turned her head, gave him a heart-stopping smile.
And
then her hands slid up his chest, to his shoulders, into his hair. Drawing him
closer, melding her body against his. His heart slammed into his ribs as her
warm wet flesh slipped along his throbbing cock. His breath caught. His body
tensed.
The
teasing sweep of her tongue across his lower lip grounded him once more. Mason
angled his hips, and in one prolonged thrust sank deep inside her swollen
flesh. Pleasure tripped down his spine.
This
was the homecoming he needed. The place where everything was right and good and
the language they both spoke required no translator. He sank to his elbows,
surrendering to the primal need of desire. Slow, steady thrusts brought
Kirstin’s back off the floor. Her mewls of satisfaction saturated his already hazy
head, making him dizzy with the same all-consuming need.
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.
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.