They were pushing each other hard. Something had to give. Mary wasn’t about to back down. The woman had courage.
And something else ...
She desired him.
Her nipples poked the robe, visible points.
He caught the flex of her flat belly.
Musk captured her meadow-fresh scent.
He felt her want and need.
Rising urges pulled at him, the fierce rhythm building inside. He told himself to leave her the hell alone. But he couldn’t.
Lust steamrolled him into a different kind of action—
He slammed his hands against the bathroom wall, pinning Mary between his palms. The smooth, cool tiles couldn’t douse the fire seething inside him. Hot, burning. Mary’s chest heaved, her lips parted, and her eyes were wide. She was frightened.
“Brody, I—” she began.
“Don’t say another word.” Before she could stop him, he pulled her into his arms, his hands going around her waist. Then he leaned down and kissed her.
She tensed, surprised at his abruptness. She soon relaxed in his arms and opened up to him, her lips giving way to his darting tongue.
She tasted sweet, the freshness of her just-washed hair fragrant in his nostrils. He cupped her breasts, still covered by the fluffy chenille.
She moaned, her hands going around his waist and grabbing his butt when—
She gasped loudly, then pulled away, scooped up her bag, and ran from the bathroom.
It was only after she’d gone and he got his emotions back under control that he realized his towel had fallen off.
He was standing bare-ass naked.
His dick pointing north.
At twelve forty-five AM Mary Blanchard arrived at Club Haunt dressed as a sexy Snow White. She clasped her hands together as she took in the scene and immediately realized her ring finger was bare.
She’d lost her engagement ring.
Misplaced it?
No.
Impossible. She never took it off.
Then where was it?
Moving through the crowd, adjusting her black half mask so it didn’t make her nose itch, she felt a shiver creep up and down her spine. Wait—
She’d taken it off before her shower. Put it down next to her toiletry bag on the shell-shaped soap dish when she’d done her nails. Candy-apple red to go with her outfit. Her fellow waitress, Sally, had given her the polish, insisting she show off her hands and well-kept nails.
How could she have been so foolish as to lose her ring? She knew the answer. Brody Jones.
When he’d startled her in the bathroom, she was washing the leftover suds out of the blue-tiled shower stall and squeezing the water from her hair. She had knocked over the soap dish trying to grab her robe. Her ring must have fallen and washed down the drain.
A single tear slid down her cheek, then another. And another. She was glad she was wearing a mask so no one could see her cry. She had loved that round little diamond sitting so proud on her finger because Brody had given it to her, with love and tenderness on a summer day when the honeysuckle bloomed near Jasper Bridge.
What had happened to change him? Was it her?
Her run-in with him in the bathroom had upset her so much, she’d grabbed her things and fled back to her room.
But not before she got a parting look at his erection. Primed and ready for action. No doubt he had plans for tonight that included more than a hot kiss.
Her lips still burned from his mouth claiming hers. His arms had held her tightly, enfolding her in a moment of passion born out of anger.
The man was impossible. Forbidding her to go out and have a good time.
Talk about a double standard.
Screw him and his chauvinistic ideas. She might have come from a small town, but she believed in equal rights and being treated fairly. Especially at her job. She liked that about Duffy. He had given her a chance to make good. And she had.
She was proud of how her waitressing skills had improved since Brody left. She could scoot up and down the diner as if on Rollerblades. She could balance three plates at once, keep her customers’ coffee cups filled with ease, and cut perfect triangles of banana cream pie without smearing the meringue.
But Brody. Was he fair? No way.
His attitude toward her made her so mad she’d blurted out to him that they weren’t engaged anymore.
Mary looked down at her naked ring finger glowing in the strobe lighting of the club and let out a deep sigh. Seemed it was truer than she’d realized.
Before she’d had time to notice her ring was gone, Sally had popped over to help her get ready for the reopening of Haunt. Helping her wiggle into her tight costume, the gum-popping waitress insisted Mary wasn’t showing enough cleavage. Rolled-up socks stuffed into her bodice fixed that problem, but they had a hard time adjusting the tight black wig over her damp, curly hair.
No sooner had they arrived at the club than Sally—dressed as a French maid—paired off with a swashbuckling pirate who promised to shake up her booty.
Mary was left to navigate the club alone.
Which wasn’t easy. She hiked up her white thigh-high stockings and tottered about the club in her spike-heeled Mary Janes, looking everywhere at once.
She was intrigued by a bunch of superheroes, laughing and slapping one another on the back. The Incredible Hulk seemed to be paying particular attention to her, but the sexy vampire hanging on to him steered him away from her.
His piercing eyes made her shiver.
Putting him out of her mind, she grabbed a glass of punch and stood away from the music, trying to take everything in.
She wasn’t used to all the attention she was getting from the costumed characters—nudging her elbow, blowing into her ear, or pinching her behind.
“Hey, Snow White, where’s your shiny apple?” whispered Robin Hood. “I’d like to take a bite.”
She passed on the man in green tights.
“Howdy, pretty lady. Lost your seven dwarves?” asked a sexy cowboy in a Stetson, leather vest, and chaps. His mask covered both eyes and nose. “I’d be mighty glad to help you find them.”
Something about his familiar accent made Mary turn around and tilt her head, thinking. He reminded her of someone from Plain who used to talk like that.
Brody?
She narrowed her eyes, taking him in. He was tall enough to be the ballplayer, thick in the chest as well. She looked down with an expert eye to judge his feet, but he was wearing boots. She walked around him in a slow circle and checked out his butt. No, it wasn’t Brody.
Still, he had a nice smile. And she was here to have a good time. She didn’t want to admit she was still hurting from the way Brody had acted that afternoon. His kiss hadn’t been tender and nice like in high school. It was rough, crude. He was angry and had bruised her lips.