Snowed In with Her Ex

by Andrea Laurence

Bree felt her knees weaken beneath her once he pulled away. It was as if he had yanked the rug out from under her. She righted herself and fidgeted, tugging anxiously at her pullover and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

  What the hell was she thinking? She had very nearly melted into the arms of another woman’s fiancée. She was their wedding photographer! Past or no past, that was all kinds of wrong. Natalie would kill her if she knew.

  Bree took a deep breath and pulled herself together. Reacting to Ian didn’t help either of them. “I’m sorry to hear your relationship is less than ideal,” she said in her most formal, detached voice.

  Ian’s gaze ran over her face for a moment before he spoke. “Yeah. Me, too,” he said, turning on his heel and disappearing into the other room.

  Three

  “Gretchen, I’ve made a big mistake.”

  Bree had made a quick getaway to her bedroom after her encounter with Ian. She’d needed some personal space to clear her head and purge her lungs of his scent. She’d hauled her bags up the stairs and selected the room with a wall of windows overlooking the valley below. The queen-size four-poster bed had a gray velvet brocade comforter and navy silk curtains to enclose the bed if she chose.

  That wasn’t a bad idea. The room was luxurious and spacious. Perhaps she should just wrap herself up in a silk cocoon and stay here until the snow melted. She could forage for food in the night while Ian slept and maybe squirrel away a box of crackers or something to keep up here. Maybe then they could stop antagonizing each other.

  After closing the door, she’d grabbed her phone and dialed one of her friends and business partners, Gretchen. Natalie would be horrified by the entire situation. Amelia would want to talk about Bree’s feelings. But she just wanted to vent to someone who would listen, then tell her to put on her big-girl panties. That was Gretchen—their calligrapher, invitation and program designer and wedding day jack-of-all-trades.

  “I hear you’re snowed into a million-dollar mountain house. I really feel bad for you.”

  That was one way of looking at it, but it was getting harder and harder to remember that fact. The house was beautiful; every inch was filled with expensive furniture, detailed stone craftsmanship and state-of-the-art electronics. Her bedroom was nicer than some five-star hotels. “Did Amelia leave out the part where I’m stuck alone with the groom?”

  “No, she mentioned that. Why does it matter? Is he creepy? Or a jerk?”

  Bree hesitated. “No, he isn’t creepy. But he is my...uh...ex from college.”

  “What?” Gretchen’s sharp voice nearly climbed through the phone to smack her upside the head.

  “Shh!” Bree insisted. She had no doubt that Gretchen was in the office and she didn’t need her shouting to draw the others. “No one can know, okay? Especially not Natalie. She’ll flip out.”

  “It sounds like you’re flipping out. Is that what the thing Monday was about? Why you were so interested in the Missy Kline wedding?”

  Bree frowned. “Maybe. It caught me off guard to find out he was getting married. And to her, of all people.”

  “So now you two are trapped together. What’s going on that you’re not telling me? You sound really wound up. The guy is getting married. And to Missy Kline! There shouldn’t be an issue, even with your past together. Wait...you haven’t tempted him away with your worn-out Converse and your messy ponytail, have you?”

  “You hush,” Bree snapped. She felt bad enough comparing herself to Missy; she didn’t need Gretchen’s help. “It’s a proximity problem. We didn’t exactly part well and being together after all this time...”

  “Don’t pick at the scabs, Bree.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know what happened between you two, but considering I’ve known you for eight years and have never heard of you dating this guy, I figure you’re picking at an old wound that should’ve healed a long time ago. You need to leave it alone or you’ll reopen it. That’s not the best idea when you’re trapped in a house together. What good will it do to stir all that stuff up again, anyway?”

  She was right. Nothing Bree said or did this weekend was going to change anything. When the snow melted, she would drive back to Nashville and resume her work. Ian would do the same. He might not be rushing home to reunite with the love of his life, but he would still go home to Missy and the baby. She had no doubt of that.

  In college it had taken months to get Ian to open up to her about his family. He hadn’t been much for talking about his personal life. It had been easier for him to communicate through song lyrics, but that had left no room for questions. That was probably how he’d liked it. But eventually, Bree had worn him down. He’d told her about how his father had bailed when his mother got pregnant. As he spoke she’d seen a haunting look of rejection in his eyes that Bree would never forget. Even though it really had nothing to do with him, he’d said he thought, deep inside, he wasn’t good enough for his father to want to stay.

  His college advisor echoing the same sentiment about Ian’s musical abilities had been like a knife to his soft underbelly. He’d been defenseless to the attack and when it had come down to it, Ian had believed the man’s words because he’d believed he wasn’t good enough. Nothing Bree could say or do would’ve changed nearly twenty years of feeling inferior.

  And nothing that happened this weekend would change the course Ian was on. He wouldn’t do the same thing to his own child, even when the thought of being with Missy made him frustrated and desperate.

  “It will do no good whatsoever,” Bree answered Gretchen.

  “Then steer your ship like you’re in iceberg-filled waters. Stay diligent, keep your eyes open and avoid a collision. Eventually, you’ll make it to port in one piece.”

  “Yeah,” Bree said, her voice not sounding particularly confident.

  Gretchen sighed. “Are you still attracted to him?”

  The pointed question instantly flustered Bree. “What? Attracted? I mean, no, but then again, he’s still... Yes,” she spat out at last. “Because I’m an idiot.”

  She was still attracted to him. And she shouldn’t be. It was so ridiculous. Her libido had flamed on like the Human Torch the minute she’d laid eyes on him again. The same libido that had been mostly ho-hum for the men she’d dated over the years. It was incredibly frustrating to find her body betraying her, especially over someone so unobtainable.

  It was like her body remembered him. Nine years had done little to erase the claim he’d left on her. Just one touch and she was nearly putty in his hands again. Begging him to kiss her with pouty lips. Ignoring the fiancée unable to make it up the mountain...

  “You’re not an idiot. You just need to get laid.”

  Bree nearly choked. “Pardon?”

  “You’ve just been working too hard with the gallery showing and all those post-Christmas engagement photo sessions. No time to play. And you haven’t mentioned going on a date in forever. Maybe you should look into doing some online dating. It could help take the edge off.”

  That wasn’t an entirely bad idea. Walking into Ian’s house after months of celibacy had left her at a distinct disadvantage.

  “Maybe you’re right. If I keep my head down, I can make it through this.” Even as she said the words, she didn’t really believe them. She was a mess and it had only been... Bree looked down at her watch. Six hours. Only six hours with Ian had put her every nerve on edge. What would a few days do?

  “Just remember,” Gretchen said in a tone mocking the ever-proper Natalie, “keep it professional and keep it classy.”

  “Yeah.” Bree snorted with contempt. “I’ll do that. I’ll call you later.” She hung up and flopped back onto the bed. She closed her eyes, startling herself when the image of Ian hovering over her, midthrust, popped into her mind.

 
She shot up with a start. That settled it. She was going to lock herself in the bedroom. Bree pulled a book from her bag and set it by the bed. Investigating the large, marble, brass and glass tile bathroom, she decided that tonight she would crawl into her large whirlpool tub for a long, hot soak and read a book. She always lost herself in stories, so it would be an excellent distraction from Ian.

  A disgruntled rumble sounded from Bree’s belly.

  So much for locking herself in the bedroom. She’d been up here a half hour and the rumblings of hunger pangs had already begun. She’d stopped for a quick bite on the road to follow up the granola bar she’d scarfed down before she left her apartment, but that had burned off. She could distract herself by unpacking her things and assembling her toiletries in the bathroom, but that would buy her minutes, not hours.

  She needed to eat. And more important, she needed to desensitize herself to Ian. Perhaps the more they were together, the easier it would be. Either way, she couldn’t ignore the inevitable. Eventually, Bree would have to go back downstairs and face him.

  * * *

  “Okay, I’m officially starving.”

  Ian looked up from his laptop to see Bree in the kitchen, searching the cabinets. He’d spent an hour or so staying as far as possible from her and focusing on work. After what had happened this afternoon, that seemed like the best idea. He wasn’t entirely sure what had gotten into him. He’d been angry with Bree only moments before, and then suddenly, he had needed to touch her.

  Relationships weren’t exactly Ian’s strong suit. He’d actually had very few that he’d even characterize as “relationships.” He’d only been in love once, with Bree, and that whole thing had bitten him in the ass. From then on, dating had taken a backseat to work, and emotions usually had no role in the process. But he’d never been unfaithful to a woman. That just wasn’t in his blood. Besides, he was usually too busy with work to make one woman happy, much less two or three.

  But here, now, for the first time, he was tempted. So tempted. How many times over the years had his thoughts strayed to Bree and where she was and what she was doing? And then to have her practically dropped into his lap by a weird twist of fate and weather...

  Time had been good to Bree. He watched as she opened every single cabinet door, making thoughtful sounds as she moved around the gourmet, U-shaped kitchen. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, giving Missy a run for her money—and without three hours in the hair and makeup chairs to get there. She still had long honey-gold hair, which at some point today she’d pulled it into a messy knot at the back of her head. Her baby-blue eyes were just as bright. The freckles across her nose had faded, but she still had the same charming smile.

  She looked almost exactly the way she had when she’d been his. It was hard for his brain and his body to recognize that was no longer the case. When his fingertips had brushed across her pink lips, they’d parted seductively, nearly begging him to kiss her. And he’d wanted to. Man, he’d wanted to.

  Which was why he’d walked away. Why he had to stay away from Bree Harper.

  Shaking away the unproductive thoughts, he looked down at his watch. It was after five. Food was probably a good idea. Bree had ended her quest at the refrigerator.

  “Champagne, strawberries, spinach, brie...fancy stuff. Perfect if you’re having acquaintances over for a wine soiree.” Her blond head popped up over the door to look at him. “You don’t happen to have makings for a cheeseburger tucked away in here, do you?”

  He shook his head. “No, sorry. Missy doesn’t eat red meat and she says that since she got pregnant, watching me eat it makes her ill.”

  Bree’s lips twisted in thought. She eyeballed a loaf of sourdough bread on the counter and looked back inside the refrigerator. “How about grilled cheese and tomato soup?”

  Ian’s brow went up with curiosity. “Are you offering to cook us dinner?” The Bree he knew from college wasn’t much of a culinary wizard. Of course, living in a dorm didn’t exactly lend itself to cooking.

  She shrugged, tossing a block of gruyere onto the counter. “One of us has to do it unless you have a personal chef hidden away somewhere.”

  “No.” He chuckled. “I like to keep things more casual here, so I don’t keep any staff.”

  “You have staff at home?” she asked while slicing the cheese on a wooden cutting board.

  “I just have Winnie. She’s... Well...I pretty much pay her to be my wife.”

  At that, the cutting stopped and Bree looked up. “Care to clarify that?”

  “She takes care of everything at home so I can focus on work. Winnie cleans the house and does the grocery shopping. She cooks. She does my laundry and picks up my dry cleaning. Winnie pretty much does everything a wife who works in the home would do. I don’t know how I’d survive without her.”

  Bree retrieved a skillet and a pot from the cabinet and put them on the blue flames of the stove. “Sounds handy.”

  “She is. I’m going to miss her when Missy moves in.”

  “Why is she leaving?”

  That was a damn good question. “Missy is...particular. She has her own staff, which includes a housekeeper, a chef, a personal trainer and a personal assistant. She insisted there was no need to keep Winnie on when she moved in with her entourage. Once we add the nanny, that’s just way too many people, although I hate to do it. I’m giving Winnie a huge severance package and I’m trying to find a new position for her.”

  Ian didn’t mention that Winnie was relieved to be laid off. He got the distinct impression that she had no interest in looking after the pop princess. He didn’t blame her. Missy was a handful.

  He watched Bree at the stove. She had the tomato soup simmering and the sandwiches were turning perfectly golden and toasty in the skillet. He watched her give them an expert flip and then slip them onto a plate. The Gruyère cheese was oozing out the sides with crispy burned edges. She ladled the soup into big soup mugs and put them beside the sandwich.

  “It may not be the gourmet meal a kitchen this grand calls for, but I can’t think of anything else more perfect for a cold day in the mountains.”

  Ian picked up both plates and carried them into the dining room. “I agree. It smells great. I don’t think I’ve had tomato soup since I was a kid.”

  “Really? Why was it in the pantry?”

  He shrugged and put the plates down at two of the place settings near the fireplace. “It’s probably left over from the last time my stepbrother came with the kids. They were here at Christmas.”

  They sat down together, the large stone hearth roaring with flames beside them and the picture window overlooking the valley opposite it. Ian found it unnerving that he couldn’t see anything except the bare branches of the trees in his yard below. The snow was still falling as hard as before.

  With a shake of his head, he took a bite of his sandwich and groaned aloud. It was probably the best grilled cheese sandwich he’d ever had. The gruyere reminded him of a croque monsieur he’d enjoyed so much in France. “This tastes wonderful.”

  “Thanks,” she said before tentatively sipping a spoonful of the hot soup. “I’m not much of a cook. It’ll probably be all downhill from here. Amelia won’t even let me help in the kitchen when she’s slammed.”

  “Who is Amelia?”

  “One of my business partners at From This Moment. She’s the caterer. You’d much rather be snowed in with her, I assure you. First-class cuisine all the way.”

  Ian sincerely doubted that. He’d take Bree’s company and grilled cheese any day. “Does the wedding business take up all your time, or do you still have the opportunity to do the artistic photography you did back in school?”

  A soft smile curled Bree’s lips. “I do. This year, I’ve done a black-and-white series called ‘The Other Side of Nashville.’ I wanted to show the parts that
most people don’t think of. There’s no country music, no cowboy boots. Just a collection of places I love and people who look less like Grand Ole Opry stars and more like middle America.”

  That was the Bree he remembered. The one who hated posed pictures. “Are you doing a show? I thought I heard you talking on the phone to someone at the Whitman Gallery earlier today.”

  “Yes.” She brushed a stray stand of blond hair behind her ear. “It’s the Sunday after next. I was supposed to have my last meeting with the curator tomorrow, but I obviously had to cancel. I’m going to meet with her as soon as I can get back to Nashville.”

  “Is this your first show at the Whitman Gallery?”

  “It’s my first show anywhere since college. And those hardly counted. I couldn’t really focus on my art the first few years after we started From This Moment. Even though we all had our specialties, we had to roll up our sleeves and do everything from setting up chairs to sweeping floors. We couldn’t afford to hire anyone to help us for a while. If I wasn’t taking pictures, there were a million other things to be done. The last year or so, that changed. That’s when I started my new collection.”

  Ian appreciated her work ethic. As fresh meat at the record studio, he’d sorted mail, emptied trash, fetched sparkling water for the singers...anything and everything they asked of him. That was just what you had to do.

  “So tell me about the business you guys have going. Judging by what you’ve said and the estimate I received, you all are doing quite well now.”

  Bree chuckled. “Not all our weddings are on the same scale as yours. We have everything from week-long million-dollar extravaganzas to couples that elope in the garden with only their parents. Whatever a bride wants, we can make it happen.”

  “How did you start all this?”

  “I met the others when I transferred to UT. During our senior year, while we were trying to think of what we wanted to do with our lives, one of us came up with the idea of a wedding facility. A friend had gotten engaged and complained that it was hard to find the right kind of venue that wasn’t at a church or wasn’t a tacky, in-and-out kind of chapel. We spent months putting together our grand plan and trying to round up investors.”