ComfortZone (3 page)

But the gleam in her eyes, the one that hinted at her true
nature—her defiant nature—was still there. He ignored it and bent down to take
her lips.

Rough. She needed to know. He wasn’t a soft, gentle lover.
Never had been. He waited for a struggle, for a whimper of fear. For a gasp or
curse. Nothing. Nothing but her mouth giving under his, her head angling for
him, lips parting in invitation.

“Damn it.” He swept in to conquer her with another kiss.
Deeper, harder, until he was sure she might feel the first sting of pain from
the pressure. He let go of her wrists so she could push at him, slap him,
somehow escape the assault. But she only wrapped around him as if he were a
lifeline. Her tight, compact body molded against his until there wasn’t a breath
between them.

“More. Please, Brice.” She moaned against his neck, taking
sweet little sucking bites of his skin. Her hands worked on the buttons of his
suit jacket. She pushed at him, trying to knock him back against another wall.
Trying to take control.

No.

“No.” There. Out loud that time. “Not gonna happen.” Can’t
happen. He sidestepped until they were standing as far apart as possible in the
small room. He watched the look of hurt, then anger pass over her face. Mary
Ellen was always the most expressive person he’d ever known.

“What the hell?” She dabbed at the corner of her mouth.

He felt a moment of anger at himself. “Did I hurt you?”

She paused then shook her head. But he saw her run her
tongue over her gums, as if checking for blood.

Just another reminder why they would never be anything more
than…whatever they were. His desires had no place in her life. And he struggled
too hard to keep his control around her. He opened the door, letting the light
spill back in.

“This can’t happen again.”

Hands on her hips, she shook her head. “I’m not a mind
reader. You care to tell me exactly why the hell not? I thought things were
going pretty well there.”

“I’ll go pull the car around. Take your time.” He shut the
door behind him to give her a minute of privacy. And mentally shut the door on
the small glimmer of hope he ever had in them.

* * * * *

“You stubborn jackass.” He couldn’t hear her anymore, but it
felt good to say. Mary Ellen pulled the strap of her dress back up and dug
through her purse for her earring. Finding her shawl, she picked it up and
wrapped it over her arms and ran fingers through her short hair to fluff it
back out.

There. She was back in order. Mostly. Poised, confident,
ready to face the world again.

She let her back hit the wall and slid down until she was
sitting on the carpet. And indulged herself in one quick round of quiet tears.
Anyone would have been shocked to see them. She hadn’t cried in front of anyone
since the second grade when she got kicked for the first time by a horse. Hurt like
hell. But nobody took a crybaby seriously. Any tears she shed, she kept them to
herself.

Wiping a hand over her cheek, she practiced the mental pep
talk again.

You’re too good for him. If he doesn’t want you, it’s his
loss. You gave it your best shot. Blah blah blah fucking blah.

Not helping. Didn’t matter what perspective she used. The
rejection still stung like a bitch.

What warm-blooded man rejected a woman who was completely
into him? And what’s more, the guy was into her! For years Brice had given her
side glances, full of heat and longing. Snarled at any guy she hung around
with. Sulked when she discussed a man she was dating. He was the definition of
a dog in the manger.

And yet.

Here she was, sitting in a closet—alone—with her mascara
running. This was definitely not how she envisioned the night ending.

So what the hell was wrong with her? Not being vain, Mary
Ellen still knew she was a decent-looking woman. Her body was proportional and
tight thanks to all the heavy lifting she did in the stables. So what the hell
was his whole
you’re you and I’m me
crap all about?

Well, that was it then. Almost ten years she’d been existing
with the heat between them always present. And she always had the chance of
maybe. Maybe just got shot to shit. So time for a new game plan.

She picked herself up—literally, off the ground—and
straightened herself again. Brice didn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing how
upset she was. She would just hold her head high, keep her shoulders back and
act as if nothing happened. No, of course she wasn’t devastated. That’s just
silly.

Though her lungs were still burning from her sob session,
she took a deep breath and blew out slowly. Her head was pounding and her knees
wanted to fold. But she wasn’t a folder. Full steam ahead. She opened the
closet door and walked toward the parking lot, determined to not let him see
her sweat.

Chapter Three

Mary Ellen held back tears as she watched her best friend
marry the man of her dreams. The smile on Trav’s face when he first saw Ariel
at the end of the aisle created in the camp garden was heart-melting. And
Ariel’s permanent glow as she floated down the aisle on her father’s arm was
breathtaking. But it was their quiet, solemn, handwritten vows for each other
that nearly broke her down.

It was her best friend. She was entitled to sniffle a
little, right? But outright crying, no. She’d done enough of that in the past
twenty-four hours, thank you very much.

She watched—and gave a watery laugh—as Trav took hold of
Ariel’s shoulders and dipped her old-Hollywood style before giving her a kiss
that had every female heart sighing.

Twenty minutes later, after helping the ushers direct guests
to the camp banquet hall, she reported back to the decorated gazebo for photos.

“Go ahead and take a spot to the right of the bride,
darling.” The photographer half dragged her into position. To the right of
Ariel, and directly in front of Brice. The man who had avoided her all day as
if she were leprosy on a stick. Lovely.

“Hold it. That’s great. Now everyone smile for me.”

Mary Ellen held her breath and did her best to shove
thoughts of the jerk aside.
Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Smile.
Except she couldn’t help but feel his suit jacket brush her back with every
breath. And did he have to breathe so freaking loudly?

“Okay, I’m going to have the bride and groom sit down on the
steps there, and everyone lean in around them, like you’re framing them. Great,
nice work.”

“Can you see down my dress?” Sarah called out, making
everyone laugh.

“You’re looking good, sweetheart,” the photographer
reassured her.

“Ass,” Pete muttered.

“Easy, buddy. He’s not poaching.” Trav shook his head with
amusement.

“Got the shot. Bridal party, you can relax and stand up for
a sec while my assistant switches out the lights. Bride and groom, this way for
a few couple shots while they fix the setup.”

They all straightened and shook out their muscles after
crouching in an uncomfortable position. Trav held out a hand and helped Ariel
climb down the stairs, following the photographer to a bench surrounded by
early flowers. Brice’s arm brushed her back more than once as they wiggled
around, readjusting their clothing and bodies. She waited a beat, then two.
Just
let it go. Ignore it. Be the bigger person.

She was never very good at being the bigger person.

Whirling around, she poked her bouquet at Brice’s chest. “Do
you have to breathe so hard?”

His face went from shock to annoyance too quickly. “I’m
not.”

“You’re breathing down my neck, literally. Feels like I’m
running with the bulls and one’s about to ram me up my ass.”

Pete snickered and got an elbow from Sarah.

Brice jerked his head toward them. “He’d know. Right?”

Mary Ellen’s mouth dropped open all by itself. How could he…
Why would he… “What the
hell
?”

Sarah’s mouth dropped open.

“Dude. Pull it back.” Pete shook his head.

“Never mind.” Brice shrugged his shoulders, as if he hadn’t
just said something completely rude and uncalled for.

“No. I absolutely will not ‘never mind’. How dare you judge
me? You don’t want me. You’ve made that abundantly clear to me in the past.
While you’ve made playing the dog in the manger an art form, I’ve had a life.
So please. Please forgive me for being with other guys— Sorry, Sarah.”

“No problem,” she sang.

“And not sitting up in some ivory tower, waiting for you to
make a move that you’re
never going to make
.” Okay. She’d skipped
straight over assertive and moved right on into shrill, bordering on crazy. Not
her finest moment.

Brice’s jaw clenched, and she would have sworn she saw one
of his beautiful brown eyes twitch. But he said nothing. At least he didn’t
deny it. Wouldn’t that have been a whopper of a lie.

She turned on her heel and started down the gazebo steps. As
she passed Ariel, she whispered an apology. Then the minute her heels hit the
makeshift aisle, she took off at a speed walk.

Sure, running might have been more dramatic, more
point-proving. And it would have gotten her out of there much faster. But she
was in heels, damn it. Practicality wins over drama.

* * * * *

What the hell?

It was the only thing Brice could think of while he, once
again, stood off in the shadows, watching other people socialize. This was
becoming an uncomfortable habit. He caught himself in mid-scowl, wiped his face
clean of any expression and glanced at the dance floor.

There. That made him feel better already. His sister,
dancing with her husband. Looking like someone lit a lantern inside her, she
was glowing so much. Trav whirled her around until her skirts swished and
tangled them both. They laughed, and she rested her cheek on his shoulder.

His heart contracted a little, both in joy and sorrow. She
wasn’t his to protect anymore. Wasn’t his to watch over, keep safe. Something
he’d vowed to do since she was six years old, and looked up at him with those
big eyes and put one sticky hand in his and said he was home.

But she was happy. Happier than he’d ever seen her before.
And he refused to ruin her day by acting like an ass. He’d already played that
card earlier, during pictures.

Making his way over to the bridal party’s table, he squatted
down next to Sarah’s chair. In a low voice, he said, “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Hmm?” She kept her eyes trained on her brother, Trav, a
small smile tilting her lips.

“During the photos. Bringing up past stuff that—”

“It’s okay.” She turned a brilliant smile to him, and he
breathed a sigh of relief. “Really, it is. I understand.”

“Thanks.” He stood and held out a hand. “Dance?”

“Love to.” They walked to the dance floor and found a little
piece all for themselves. She wasn’t the most graceful, but she made up for it
in enthusiasm and soon had him smiling.

Even a glance to his left to see Mary Ellen dancing with
Pete didn’t dampen his spirits. Sure, they had a past. But Pete was with Sarah
now, and any fool could see he wasn’t giving Sarah up. No threat.

Wait. No threat? To what? He didn’t want her.

Christ, what a lie.

Pete spun Mary Ellen out, only to be caught by one of the
ushers. Trav’s cop buddy, Taylor. Pete took over dancing with Brice and Ariel’s
mother and Mary Ellen stayed with Taylor.

“You’ll have to see a dentist soon.”

“Huh?” Brice looked down to see Sarah looking at him with a
gleam in her eye.

“Your back teeth are grinding so much, you’re about to lose
them. You might want to do something about that.”

“I don’t grind my teeth.”

“I meant
that
.” She nodded her head toward the
oh-so-happy dancing couple of Mary Ellen and Taylor. “Listen, I’m the new kid
in this equation. So I might be way off. But from where I stand, you’re
jonesing for her like an addict. Why do you keep denying yourself?”

Like an addict. Apt description. Much like any drug, he was
terrified if he had a taste of Mary Ellen, he’d be hooked for life.

“Long story.” It was the most polite way he could think of
to evade.

“Which is social code for ‘shut your trap, Sarah.’” He started
to deny it but she shook her head with a smile. “I can do that. Just one more
thing before I do. She’s hurting from want, too. Seems like if you’ll both be
miserable apart, you might as well take a chance at being miserable together.
And who knows? Maybe the misery will cancel out and you’ll actually be happy.”

With that, she did a surprisingly agile spin under his arm
and walked toward the bar, abandoning him on the dance floor with his thoughts.

Maybe the misery will cancel out.
Definitely a new
way of looking at things.

He walked back to sit down at the head table and observe.
Mary Ellen’s laughter was clear as a bell, ringing out over the music as Taylor
twirled her around the floor. They swayed, bumped into someone, laughed and
apologized and kept right on going. Too wrapped up in their own little world to
notice where they were going.

His arm started to burn and he realized his hand was
clenched into a tight fist. Wiping his palms over his pants forced them to
relax.

Shit. She was right. He really was the dog in the manger.
And he’d known it for years. Just never done anything about it.

Because you don’t have the right.

Did he?

Maybe the misery will cancel out.

Fuck. Was that what he wanted? Did he really want Mary Ellen
enough to ignore what he thought—or at least had thought up to now—was the best
thing for them?

Sarah might have had the right of it. If they were both
upset, was it for the best?

He stood without realizing it, then found himself walking
toward where Mary Ellen and Taylor were swaying, almost as if someone else was
controlling his body. Just a puppet on a string, guided by his desire.