Free Misunderstanding Mason by Claire Ashgrove

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.