LITMIR.BIZ

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amount of netting. Perfect. Because she was a foamy, girlie latte whose upbringing had left her too delicate to withstand his bitter, black coffee self. “I say drop the Park Avenue and just leave it at Princess.”

      Was it his imagination, or did her nostrils just flare in anger?

      “My fiancé Dylan is due to arrive any minute,” she said crisply.

      “Dylan, huh?” he repeated out of habit.

      He pulled out the small notebook in his pocket and scribbled the name down, in the off chance he needed to remember. Reese eyed his movements as if he was mocking her by his actions.

      If only.

      “And I don’t think you should be here when he arrives,” she said.

      Unconcerned, he lifted a brow. “Is he going to kick my ass?”

      “Unfortunately, no,” she said with a meaningful look. “He’s way too classy for such a juvenile response.”

      Mason bit back the smile at the indirect insult, tucking the notebook back in his pocket.

      No doubt Dylan was the sort of man Reese should have married a long time ago. Successful. Rich. And from the right kind of family. The kind of man her parents would happily include as a member of the family. Certainly not an enlisted Marine.

      But damn it, after eighteen hours of driving—and a migraine that had laid him up in a hotel for another twelve, puking his guts out and so dizzy he couldn’t stand—he was motivated, and refused to leave without trying for some sort of understanding. He’d been sent on a mission, and he was going to complete it to the best of his ability.

      “We broke things off fairly abruptly.” He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as he went on. For some strange reason, he couldn’t meet her eyes. “Left a lot of things unsaid. Said some things we shouldn’t have.”

      In the pause that followed, he finally returned her gaze.

      Her voice was firm. “I meant every word that came from my mouth.”

      His lips twisted grimly, and he hesitated before trying again. “I was hoping we could get a little...” He barely managed not to roll his eyes at the sissy-sounding word his shrink had used, reminding Mason of a bunch of women on a damn talk show. He finally spit the word out. “Closure.

      “I am not discussing the past with you, Mason.”

      “I just want to resolve some—”

      “No.”

      Her voice, her face, was resolute.

      He stared at her a moment more. Although her demeanor was composed, the underlying animosity rolling off his ex-wife was about as subtle as a friggin’ sonic boom. She was too refined to yell or scream—or, as she had all those years ago, hurl objects at him. Back then her emotions had brimmed just beneath the surface, a product of her college years, a brief time when she’d been liberated from her family’s thumb. Since then she’d been reschooled, retutored and reprocessed, the real Reese buried under a refinement that made an honest discussion impossible. Being married to her had been downright difficult. But now she was more unapproachable than ever before.

      His original assessment was correct; coming had been a wasted effort.

      Because one look at Reese’s very beautiful, very angry face, and he knew there’d be no resolving any “lingering issues” with the woman. Not only were they too different, too much time had passed. Too many wounds had been inflicted. The kind he was sure went too deep to heal.

      Just like his freakin’ head.

      He pinched his eyes closed, remembering the physical therapy, the struggles with his memory and the resignation that he would never be the same.

      Mason heaved out a breath and pushed up from the chair. “Then I won’t take up any more of your time,” he said, his gaze lingering a moment on the woman he’d once thought he could do forever with.

      Her hair, the color of sunshine. The clear, creamy skin of her shoulders. The thinner figure that still held enough curve to entice a man, encased in a dress that was vastly different from the simple sundress she’d worn at their impulsive wedding. The dress he’d been in such a hurry to get her out of so they could spend as much time in bed as they could before he shipped out. Best just to remember their better moments and let go of the bad.

      Even if his ex had chosen to do the opposite.

      A ghost of a smile tipped his mouth. “Be happy, Reese.”

      And with that, he headed out of the room.

      * * *

      Wasn’t it just like the man? Show up out of the blue and tease her mercilessly. Get her all worked up—on purpose, she was sure—and then wish her well before walking back out the door?

      “I can’t believe he came,” Reese said into her cellular as her emotions continued to reel.

      She just couldn’t wrap her head around the turn of events. When her phone had rung, she’d been staring at the door Mason had just disappeared through. And she was inordinately grateful to hear her friend’s voice.

      Gina’s British accent sounded over the phone. “Who came?”

      “Mason.”

      “The ex?”

      Still wearing her wedding dress, Reese braced her hand against the window and stared down at the estate driveway, feeling spent. A delivery van was parked out front, a man unloading the champagne Dylan had ordered for the wedding. A familiar, beater red truck with huge tires was parked next to her Mercedes-Benz convertible. Mason still drove the same stupid vehicle. The Beast, she’d called it. The truck had been old when she’d met him, and now it was positively ancient. The first place Mason had ever made love to her.

      She pressed her lids closed, hating how weak she’d been back then.

      “Why did he come?” Gina asked.

      “He wanted to talk.”

      “Talk?” Gina said. “I thought you two despised each other?”

      Chaos churned in Reese’s head, as she remembered the way he’d made her feel at the end of their marriage. Alone. Shut out. Unimportant.

      And the man hadn’t changed one bit.

      Reese fisted her hand against the window. “We do.”

      Though it was hard to separate the hate from the pain.

      After he’d arrived back from his first tour in Afghanistan, all the hope she’d felt the day she’d married him slowly seeped away. She’d tried to prepare herself, reading about all the issues of returning to civilian life, PTSD, depression, just to name a few. Hoping to get a jump on the problems to come. But no matter how hard she’d tried, or how understanding she’d been, the old Mason was nowhere to be found. The Mason who’d returned was cold. Unreachable.

      Dark.

      But most importantly, he hadn’t seemed to care, refusing to attend therapy with her. He’d had access to the best care money could buy, but he’d refused to meet her even a quarter of the way. She knew she’d probably pushed him too hard, but she’d missed his wicked sense of humor, the easy laughter. And nothing compared to the anger and hurt when he’d announced he was reenlisting and going back.

      Because he’d chosen war-torn deserts and dismantling bombs over his wife.

      The remembered fury clamped hard in her heart, and she pressed her forehead to the window, the cool glass soothing her whirling thoughts. Because ten years had given her a little perspective. She’d been unprepared for the change, ill-equipped to adjust from a Mason that had seemed to worship the ground she walked on—in retrospect, an unrealistic reality—to one who completely shut her out. Having him turn his back on her had felt so...so...alien.

      She was wise enough now to realize

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